Under the Radar
by Glisseo
Summary: In a world ruled by Voldemort, where Muggleborns cannot attend Hogwarts or even hold a job, nineteen year old James Potter is bitter and bored, stuck in a Ministry job he hates, dreaming of the life he should be leading, a life where he is brilliant. But something more interesting might be right around the corner …
1. The Department of Magical Games & Sports

**"****_You know what luck is? Luck is believing you're lucky, that's all." – A Streetcar Named Desire_**__

This is a story that has been told a thousand times, that will be told a thousand more. Sometimes it is traditional, sometimes – like this – not; but one thing that remains the same throughout is that this is a story of two people who fall in love and stay in love until the end, no matter when or why that end comes. Things change, and people change, but love is love, and in the end, that's all that matters. 

* * *

_Thud._

Of course his chair leg is wonky. Why wouldn't it be?

_Thud._

This whole place is shit.

_Thud._

He'd give anything to leave, stroll up to Dingle and quit, but he made a promise, and

_Thud._

if there's one thing James Potter does, it's keep his promises.

The wrinkly old biddy at the corner desk shoots him a look so full of loathing that he's surprised he doesn't drop dead on the spot. With a sigh, he grabs a book from his desk and shoves it under the wonky chair leg.

Working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports _sounds _interesting. Working for the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters sounds even more so. James knows better.

His job description is _junior budget analyst, in charge of documenting expenditure and handling financial concerns relating to expenditure with regard to national Quidditch events and advertising._

In short, he writes down how much money is being spent on Quidditch matches, works out how much _can _be spent and ignores the complaints from other departments that they're spending too much money on a sport.

When he took this job as a promise to his father to _stay under the radar_, he didn't think he was giving up that much – he thought he'd rise to the top in no time. He didn't realise that he'd be under suspicion from the second he stepped into the office; the Potters, despite being an old pureblood family, are known for having no alliance with the Dark side. James often wonders if everybody in the office _is _actually dark – or if some are like him, just trying to maintain a front. This is staying on the right side of Voldemort without actively declaring loyalty to him, which, according to James' parents, is essential. In return for staying at the Ministry, James maintains a cushy lifestyle: an enormous flat in the wizarding corner of Chelsea, big enough to comfortably hold himself and two others, and a substantial amount of gold every month. He doesn't really need this job, and he'd much rather be doing something fun, but he supposes in the long run that it's better to be safe than sorry – a philosophy he's rather had to be convinced of in the last few years.

As far as he's concerned, his best friend Sirius has got it far better than him. Sirius is much in the same boat, with the small exception of not having parents who care about his welfare. Taken in by the Potters some years earlier, Sirius was just as much forced into taking a Ministry job as James was – except he landed in International Magical Cooperation. To James' knowledge, this job mainly involves liaising with pretty foreign witches – and, if the regular noises from the bedroom next to James' are anything to go by, Sirius is extremely good at it.

The only good thing about it is that they get to meet for lunch, and then when the hour is up Sirius returns to professional sleazing and James returns to the joyous company of an office full of old, dried up crones, manned by the ever-pleasant Pincus Dingle, by far the biggest twat that James has ever had the misfortune to meet – with the possible exception of Severus Snape, a former classmate and utter dickhead.  
Bigots, the lot of them. And he really, really hates bigots.

-  
August is a shit time to be doing what James does. With the Quidditch season starting, he has to sort out the budgets for every single match and deal with all the requests from the managers of crap teams for a bigger budget this year – they never get it, but that just seems to make them more persistent. All in all, it's enough to make him want to scream and tip over his desk by the time five o'clock arrives.

On the day the season actually kicks off, he files four refusals to participate if 'monetary needs are not met' neatly in the wastepaper bin, drinks from the wrong – and cold – cup of coffee three times and cocks up two sums that really shouldn't be cocked up.

It's a long day.

As always, he's ready to leave by four fifty-eight, cloak on and bag at the ready – but just as the big hand crawls over to the twelve, the clock disappears from sight, blocked by the sudden appearance of Pincus Dingle half a millimetre from James' desk.

"Ah, Potter," says Dingle, his pathetic attempt at a moustache fluttering gently, "keen to get home, are you?"

"Well, you know how it is – those six kids won't feel 'emselves," James shrugs. "More's the pity."

Dingle gives him a look. It is his _I think that's a joke, but I don't find it funny and I'm not impressed _look. He uses it often on James, which is odd, considering how funny James knows himself to be.

"Yes," says Dingle slowly, "yes … anyway, Potter, had to catch you before you left. We've a new administrative assistant joining us tomorrow – that Fawcett girl didn't last long at all, don't know what her problem was –"

"Stress, I heard," James yawns. "Can't think why."

"- so we've got a new one, and since I'm ever so busy, I'm delegating the task of telling her what's what to you." The smugness on Dingle's face is almost unbearable; James feels genuinely nauseated, but then he often does when Dingle is around. The fact that his aftershave seems to be made from old kippers doesn't help at all.

"I – look forward to it," he manages, which is good enough for Dingle, who disappears as suddenly as he appeared. James immediately gathers his things and races out of the office. Another day done.

-

"_I'd _be looking forward to that," Sirius says, a familiar gleam in his eyes quite at odds with the manner in which he's shovelling potatoes into his mouth. "Fresh meat, isn't it?"

James concedes that this is true. In fact, he hadn't thought about tomorrow's task at all until a few moments ago, when he relayed his day's events to his flatmates – but now he realises that it might actually be quite enjoyable. _If _the girl is fit.

"So you don't know this bird's name?" Sirius asks. "Or age? You'll probably know her. Maybe it'll be Daphne Miller, remember her?"

"Oh yeah," says James, grinning, "I remember Daphne Miller, all right."

"You'll be a lucky sod if it is her. I might have to –" a huge yawn punctuates Sirius' words – "drop by more often."

"Long night?" asks Remus drily. "I didn't hear you come in."

Remus is the third and final flatmate, and the third of James' best friends. The fourth, Peter, still lives with his mother, or Needy Peggy, as the rest of them know her as. Remus is the perfect flatmate, being tidy and organised as well as a great cook, not to mention his overwhelming gratitude for having a place to live. A werewolf, his choices in life boil down to joining the Dark side or having no rights whatsoever. Remus settles for the latter, drifting from poorly-paid job to poorly-paid job, having to leave as soon as his monthly absences are noticed. James and Sirius, refusing to let him pay rent, instead accept payment in the form of meals, which are a lot more useful (and delicious) than money.

"I didn't know you cared, Moony," says Sirius, smirking, "but since you ask, it was a long night, yeah. Didn't sleep at all, as a matter of fact." He drops his fork to slap his palm against James', then picks it up again and gestures first at Remus, then James. "You two ought to think about getting a bit of action yourselves, I'm having to do it for both of you."

"How kind of you," Remus says flatly, stabbing violently at a piece of chicken. "But I'm fine as I am, thanks. Growing fur every month is an ordeal enough without having to explain it to a girl."

"Fair enough." Now the fork is pointing solely in James' direction. "What about you, Prongs? You don't fancy a bit of lady love in your life?"

James very much fancies some lady love, but it's hard to come by when he's supposed to be keeping his head down.

"The problem these days," he explains, "is that you don't know who's on which side. I could be trying to get off with a girl in a pub one day and find out the next that she's actually pure evil, like – like Bellatrix."

Sirius puts his fork down again and pushes his plate away, looking sick. "Please don't mention Bellatrix while I'm eating."

-

There are roughly ten minutes between James' yelp of 'oh, _cock_' on waking and his arrival at the Ministry. As he sprints through the Atrium, he notes that this is a new record.

He skids across the threshold of the department at two minutes past nine, and is delighted to see that there are no new faces yet, giving him time to compose himself over a cup of coffee. He's just wondering if there are any Ginger Newts left when the door of the office opens and a girl walks in.

James looks at her carefully – and gives a mental cheer. _Jackpot. _This girl is amazing: pretty face, long, swishy hair – and, although he can't see a lot of her body (he hates robes) he can tell she's got a decent pair of -

"Potter!" Dingle hisses, sticking his head out of his office and looking pointedly at the new arrival.

Right. Showtime. James quickly smooths down his robes, runs his hands through his hair and strides purposefully towards the girl, who is hovering at the entrance, looking wary.

"Hi," he says, holding out his hand. "I'm James. I'm guessing that you're the new administrative assistant?"

She shakes his hand with a firm grip. "Yes – my name's Lily Evans."

"You're late, you know," he tells her, and then wonders what on Earth possessed him to say that – _why _would he say that?

"Am I?" she says, raising one eyebrow. "How odd. My old job began at –" she squints at the clock – "seven past nine."

Relief whooshes through him. "Really? What job was that?"

Her mouth twitches. "It was at a clock repair shop."

Now James has to stop himself from dancing on the spot; not only extremely attractive, but funny, too! And evidently not a stickler for rules … and she doesn't _look _like she'd be Dark, does she?

"Well, that probably wasn't half as exciting as working here, you'll be pleased to know," he informs her. "You get the most fun job, in fact. Let me show you to your desk …"

Lily's desk is just a few feet from his. He's beginning to wonder if he's somehow taken some of that luck potion they learned about in school, because his days _never _start off this well.

"Administrative assistant is just a fancy term for general dogsbody," he explains, as Lily examines the desk and surrounding work area. "On the surface your jobs will be keeping track of the system, noting any changes to the teams and making sure the files stay organised, but everyone'll also expect you to get them drinks and stuff and basically run any errands and follow any orders that they shout in your direction."

"Oh boy," Lily says, gazing around at the office – taking in, no doubt, the amount of grumpy old wizards, some of whom are eyeing up their new colleague with definite interest. "I know this must seem obvious, but doing all that is actually all I've ever dreamed of." She turns to James, looking expectant. "What do you do, then? Are you in your dream job?"

"I'm a junior budget analyst," James says monotonously. "I handle expenditure and any other monetary issues."

Lily looks impressed. "Well, that answers my question. How did we get so lucky?"

_I have no idea_, James thinks, as she flicks back her long red hair and smiles at him. _I really have no idea_.

-  
And from that moment on, everything changes.

* * *

_I shouldn't be posting a new fic. I really shouldn't be posting a new multi-chapter fic. But I know exactly where this one is going, and to be honest ... I get my A Level results tomorrow, the big ones, the ones that determine my future, and it would be really lovely to come home to some nice reviews ... _


	2. Analyst and Assistant

"Well, knock me down with a Jobberknoll feather," says Sirius in disbelief. "Look at you! You're actually _enjoying _work!"

James grins into his pint and says nothing.

"I wish I enjoyed work," says Peter dismally, stirring his shandy with a pudgy finger. "Sorting books is so boring, and the manager always shouts when I mix up Fifi LaFolle with Fenella Featherington."

"To be fair," Remus puts in, as is his way, "one is a romance novelist and one writes books about the juxtaposition between Muggle and wizarding wars."

"How'm I supposed to know that?" Peter mutters, reaching for a handful of crisps from the bowl on the table and watching in horror as one slips through his fingers and falls into his shandy. "Oh, no …"

"Back to the matter at hand," Sirius interrupts loudly, oblivious to Peter's plight, "which is that Prongs is getting his jollies at _work_, of all places!"

"Hark who's talking!" says James indignantly. "You've had it on with most of your colleagues –"

"No, I haven't. I go for the ones I only have to _liaise _with, and they all live abroad. It's just stupid to get involved with someone you see every day."

James rolls his eyes. "I'm not involved with her! I'm just having a bit of fun. She livens up the office, all right, and Merlin knows I need that."

Sirius snorts, but doesn't push it.

"Who is this girl, anyway?" Peter asks, fishing soggy crumbs from his glass. "You said you don't recognise her from school …"

"No, I reckon she must be a bit older," James shrugs. "I hadn't really thought about it."

- - -

He hasn't thought about it because Lily is so entertaining that she drives rational thought from his brain; he feels like he spends most of his work day laughing, now, and if anyone had told him that a month ago he would have told them they were barking mad. Laughing at work! _Looking forward to work! _

One day in late September, Dingle flies into the office in a foul mood and spends two hours calling each department member into his office and shouting at them in turn. When James returns to his desk with his ears ringing, he ignores the stack of expense forms he has to file and instead takes out a fresh piece of parchment and sets to work, barely noticing anything else around him until half an hour later, when a shadow falls across his desk, a familiar, delicious citrus-y scent dancing around his nose.

"You're working hard," Lily observes, leaning over to place a mug in front him; her thigh brushes against James' and he gulps, feeling blood rush to his face. "Not that you always – what's this?"

She runs her eyes over the scribbled list, eyes glittering.

"I haven't got anything good," James admits. "But something needs to be done – teach him a lesson …"

"I think I might have something," Lily says excitedly, straightening up; a shiver runs through James as the warm weight disappears. "It's quite complex in its actual working, but very simple on the surface."

"Go on," James prompts, intrigued.

Lily drops her voice to a whisper. "It's this charm that you can put on a quill to – well, it's difficult to explain – I suppose it's a kind of transfer … you link the quill to a specific piece of parchment using this charm and when the quill is used on a different surface, the ink won't appear there, but on the parchment you have. So it'll look like the quill's not working, and you'll be able to see everything the person writes, but they won't."

James sits back in his chair, stunned. "That's brilliant," he says after a moment. "Utterly brilliant. Where did you learn that?"

"A teacher taught it to me," Lily grins.

"_Really? _Which teacher – Flitwick?"

"Er, yes." Lily brushes her hair out of her eyes, looking expectant. "So, shall we do it? Today?"

"I don't see why not," James agrees. He thinks of the look on Dingle's face, and matches Lily's grin. "Definitely, in fact. He'll be going for lunch soon – we can plant the quill then."

A slave to routine, Dingle predictably storms out of the office at twelve on the dot, the rest of the office filtering slowly out in the following minutes. As soon as the place is deserted, bar James and Lily, they leap into action. James steals the quill from Dingle's office, then watches with growing admiration as Lily enchants it, a funny feeling in his stomach as she murmurs the incantation, her pale face and green eyes aglow in the light from her wand. A selected piece of parchment gets the same treatment, and is placed on Lily's desk, hidden from view under a pile of leaflets; James returns the enchanted quill to Dingle's office, making sure to shove all others into a drawer, just as the office door opens and a low hum of monotonous chatter fills the room. Quick as a flash, James darts back to his desk, rearranging his features into a suitably innocent expression.

They only have to wait a few minutes. Dingle returns, slams the door to his office – _one second, two seconds, three seconds _– and then throws it open again, face working furiously.

"Evans!" he snaps, jabbing a finger at Lily – who, James notices, was reading the piece of parchment, a smile playing at her lips. "My quill is not working, and yet it is full of ink. Is it not your job to ensure that everybody has _working equipment_?"

"Yes, sir," Lily says at once, jumping to her feet. "It should be working, sir, I test them myself. Might I come and have a look at it?"

James sees Dingle's eyes run across the curve of Lily's waist, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and feels a surge of anger.

"All right, then," Dingle acquiesces, and allows Lily to step into his office; she doesn't close the door behind her, but leaves it wide open so that the conversation is clear to the main room.

"But it is working," James hears her say, sounding puzzled. "I mean, it's writing, isn't it, sir?"

"What do you mean?" Dingle splutters. "I wrote with it and I can't see a damned word!"

Repressing the urge to laugh, James stands up and strolls casually over to the filing cabinet behind Lily's desk, pulling open a drawer at random and perusing the contents. Plucking a file out, he turns and glances quickly at the parchment on the desk.

_30__th__ September 197_

"Sir, I don't know how to convince you," Lily is saying. "Perhaps if someone else were to look … maybe it's just me …"

"I – yes, good idea," Dingle says testily. "Get someone else in here. Now!"

Lily appears at the door and looks around the office; her eyes meet James'. She winks.

"Er – Mr Potter, sir? Could you come in here, please?"

"Of course," James says formally, moving around the desk – and sliding the parchment on top of the file in his arms as he does so. He clutches it tightly to his chest and follows Lily into Dingle's office.

"Potter," Dingle spits, red with frustration, his wispy, beige hair on end. "Look at this here, and tell me if you see anything."

James looks at the parchment, allowing bemusement to creep over his face. "It says _30__th__ September 197 –_ I suppose the nine is missing," he says slowly. "Is that not what you see, sir?"

"That's what Evans said!" Dingle explodes. "I don't – how – no!" He grabs the quill again and starts to scribble furiously; Lily edges carefully closer to James so that the file is in her eye line.

"There! Nothing there!"

"Yes, there is," James corrects. "It says _Pincus Dingle, Head of the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters. _That's you," he adds unnecessarily.

"_I know it's me!" _Dingle roars. "I – what in the name of – _no! _I will not take this! Evans, get me a new quill at once!"

"Yes, sir," says Lily. "Would you like me to book you an eye testing appointment too?" she adds solicitously.

"The quill," growls Dingle. "Just the quill. Potter, get back to work!"

- - -

Lily and James wait until half past five to celebrate. He always stays until she does these days; those moments, when they're the only two in the office, are his favourite part of the day.

"Excellent work, good sir," she congratulates, shaking his hand vigorously. "Job well done."

"Ah, it was all down to you," James says graciously. He keeps his fingers wrapped around hers for a few moments longer than he needs to; hers are warm and soft and entwine perfectly in his …

There's a pause as he quickly lets go. His hand suddenly feels much colder.

"You know, I never expected to enjoy working here," Lily says, smiling.

"I didn't enjoy it. Until …"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"I – I'd better be off. I'll see you tomorrow …"

"Mmm. Have a good evening."

"You too."

The crush of Apparition is much darker than usual, and James spends the entire evening looking forward to the next morning.

- - -

There's an old saying that James has heard a million times: _time flies when you're having fun_. He's always found it to be true, but never more so than in the months he spends with Lily. September brushes into October, swirls into November; the ground turns cold and hard, and London feels fresher, somehow. There are whispers, whispers of killing and torture, but James is happy.

On the 2nd of November, Lily isn't. James gets a distracted 'good morning' on his arrival at work, and nothing more; he feels as if a balloon has burst inside his stomach and realises how much he relied on that smile every morning to give him a much-needed thrill.

Halfway through the morning, James passes by her desk on the way back from the bathroom and sees that her eyes and nose are pink and sore-looking. Concern swells where the balloon once was.

"Are you all right?" he asks in a low voice, leaning in.

Lily sniffs. "Not really."

James makes a snap decision. "Come on," he says, "this place is bad for anyone's spirits. Let's go and have a drink."

"What?"

"Don't you want to get out of here for a bit? Come on," he repeats. "No one'll notice. And if they do, we'll just say you were feeling sick and needed fresh air. And assistance."

Something flickers in Lily's eyes, and she abruptly stands up and reaches for her cloak. They edge towards the door and into the poster-lined corridor, then Lily stops.

"Don't you have a meeting? Budget report? It's important …"

"So are you," says James. "I'll skip it. Just this once."

The café down the road is small and dim, but it does hot chocolates and has a table for two right in the corner, almost out of sight. Ensconced with warm drinks and a plate of dry scones, Lily bursts into a fresh flood of tears and tells James all about her older sister, who is getting married in the spring and doesn't want Lily to be a bridesmaid.

"W-we used to be s-so _close_, and n-now she barely speaks to me," Lily sobs, grabbing the handkerchief that James wordlessly proffers. "I always th-thought that we'd b-be each other's bridesmaids, you know? But she says – she says I ruin _everything!"_

"That's shit," says James sympathetically. "What happened between you two?"

Lily hiccups. "It was, um, character differences. She's so uptight a-and precious about everything, and her fiancé is a complete _arse_, and … it _is _shit, it's all so shit!"

"Well, she's an idiot," says James fiercely. "You could never ruin anything. You made my life a heck of a lot better, right?"

A watery smile creeps over Lily's tear-stained face.

"She probably doesn't want you as a bridesmaid because she's just afraid you'll upstage her, anyway," James muses, picturing Lily in tight dress robes and feeling his face grow warm.

"That's nice of you to say," says Lily, cheeks matching her eyes and nose. "Thank – _hic! _– thanks, James. It's, um, it's good to just cry sometimes. It helps."

"You can cry to me whenever you like," James says.

Neither of them have Muggle money, so Lily Transfigures a couple of James' Galleons into much smaller, lighter gold coins. James wonders how she knows what they look like, but only for a moment: as they leave the café, Lily leans up and kisses him on the cheek.

It's like being hit with a curse; every nerve in his body is on alert, his heart pounding, head spinning. In reality it only lasts for a few seconds, but to James the world seems to slow down, with nothing existing but Lily's hand on his arm and her lips on his cheek, warm breath tickling his skin, citrus scent making him feel dizzy – how close she is, how real she is – he longs to grab her and kiss her and never stop kissing her -

The moment ends, the world continues, and James is left with a strange ache in his chest that feels both like joy and incredible sadness.

"I'm glad I picked this job," Lily says, her eyes boring into his, and he smiles and says that he is too, and they walk back to the office with their hands at their sides, almost touching, but not quite.

* * *

_I got into uni, so here, have another chapter. I'm in a giving mood. :)_


	3. Fireworks

They never let Remus cook the night after full moon. Exhausted, they collect Peter from his mother's house and go to the local chippy. It's a cold night; in the summer, they might sit on a bench and eat, but tonight they carry the packages back to the flat and eat in comfort and warmth. Afterwards, Remus slumps on one of the sofas, face pale; the others continue their conversation in undertones. Tonight, the topic is Lily. James pretends not to be pleased, though he'd happily spend days talking about her.

"I am thinking of asking her out," he admits. "Soon."

"You normally ask a girl out as soon as you like her," Peter says. "It's been about three months with this one, why -?"

"I don't want to rush things," James mutters, sucking vinegar off his fingers. "I like getting to know her."

"Yes, a really good job you're doing there," says Sirius, who knows all the details of Lily and James' non-relationship; he knows about the kiss ("a kiss on the cheek! _In public?_") and about the way James' heart leaps whenever he sees her. "Three months you've 'known' her, and you still don't know how old she is, or what house she was in at school …"

"It's rude to ask a lady's age," says Peter unexpectedly. James and Sirius stare at him, and he flushes pink. "That's what my mum says …"

"Well, then," says James. "I can't ask her how old she is. But she can't be more than a few years older than us. And she's definitely not a Slytherin, I know that for sure."

"You don't."

"Yes, I do. She's nice, all right? That proves it."

Sirius takes a swig of beer, then says, "your parents wouldn't be happy to know that you're getting off with a witch you know nothing about."

"I'm not _getting off _with her," James says. _Yet. _"And my parents don't need to know anything."

A loud bang suddenly echoes from somewhere outside; Remus jerks awake. Hurrying to the window, James sees an explosion of bright, sparkling colour high above the buildings, sprinkles of light bursting high in the sky and falling back to earth.

"Fireworks," Remus murmurs, his eyes closing again. "It's Bonfire Night."

James stares out at the sky at the fireworks and thinks that somewhere, Lily might be watching them too.

-

James is a Gryffindor. He is brave, and confident, and always does exactly what he sets out to do.

But asking out Lily is something that doesn't come easy to him. He spends hours lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering why, and eventually he realises that it is fear; it's fear that she won't feel the same way, that he'll lose her friendship, and he doesn't think he could bear that. He has the best of friends in Sirius, Remus and Peter, and he would never exchange that for anything – but his relationship with Lily is different. They _are _friends, they make each other laugh and smile, they seek each other out every time their eyes move from their desks …

James knows he is attracted to her, knows he would love to be _with _her, to hold her against him, feel her mouth on his, but he also knows that he would go forever without telling her if telling her meant that they could not be friends. This way, he still gets to look at her and laugh with her. It doesn't matter that time not spent with her is time constructing simple fantasies in which they are together; all that matters is that she is there.

So he waits. He waits and every day, as their friendship grows stronger, so do his feelings, but he hides it as well as he can, and she never seems to notice, or mind, the lingering looks and rushes of blood to the head when hand meets hand.

He learns little things about her, precious things; she loves cats and crumpets, she's never been abroad, she was top of her class in Potions. He doesn't know the big things, still – her age and her house and her family – and every night Sirius and Remus say that he really ought to know these things, that he is being naïve, too trusting. He finds he doesn't care.

-

"Nearly Christmas," Lily comments. "I love London at Christmas, don't you? All the lights …"

"I don't get how they work, though. Muggles have the strangest ways of doing things … they _are _nice, but I think you can get much nicer effects with charmwork."

This is _a moment, _if an engineered one; Lily caught the flu last week and is now behind on her filing. James, always a gentleman, offers to help, and so they are side by side, passing files back and forth, fingers brushing all the while.

"Well, yes, you're right," Lily says. "Oh, that reminds me, did I tell you about this one time in Charms? This lad who had a terrible crush on one of the girls decided to enchant some mistletoe to follow her around for the whole hour. She was so angry by the end of the lesson that she hexed him on the spot – he didn't kiss anyone for a while!" Lily shakes her head in disbelief as James laughs. "Can you imagine anyone acting like that?"

"Not at all," James says, and then it suddenly occurs to him that this is the perfect opportunity to get Sirius and Remus off his back. "Hey, you know – I don't recognise you from Hogwarts."

"Well, no, you wouldn't," says Lily drily, turning a file sideways to examine the label, "with me being Muggleb-"

She claps a hand to her mouth, the file slipping to the floor, eyes wide with horror. James stares at her, feeling as if he has just taken a Bludger to the head.

"You're _Muggleborn?"  
_  
"Shush! Oh no, oh _bollocks_ – in here! Quickly!"

Before James can quite register what is happening, Lily has grabbed him by the front of his robes and dragged him into the supply cupboard; he watches in open-mouthed confusion as she locks the door with a tap of her wand and performs a Silencing Charm.

With a great struggle, James finds his voice again. "You're _Muggleborn?_" he repeats hoarsely. "Muggleborn!"

"Oh, God, don't!" Lily cries, face white, hands gripping at her hair. "How could I be so stupid? James, oh James _please_, please don't tell anyone! I'll be killed!"

"I would never," James says, before he even thinks the words. "D'you really think I would let you -? Lily, what the heck are you _doing _here? Surely you weren't that desperate to work here …"

"Of course not," she says with some of her old tenacity, letting her trembling hands drop to her lap. "It's – it's a long story. I shouldn't tell you. I shouldn't! But … I suppose I couldn't really have kept it from you forever."

In that instant, in that tiny hint that she thinks they might have a forever, James is at once extremely aware of where they are, and suddenly the fear and uncertainty vanish, because he and Lily are in a tiny, dark, enclosed space, so close he can feel her warm body move against him as she breathes; before his eyes a vision appears, in which he grabs her and presses her against the wall, his hands everywhere, her hands everywhere -

"I'll tell you."

"W-what?" James stutters, snapping back to reality, and oh, how real it is.

"I'll tell you," Lily repeats, though she might just as well have said _I trust you_, such is the intensity with which she meets James' eyes. "But not here."

-

The waitress in the café (_their café_, James thinks) nods in recognition as she takes their orders. Two coffees, extra strong, because they both bloody well need it.

The light is horribly harsh after the intimate depth of the dark cupboard, and everything seems too bright, too loud, or perhaps that's just the bizarre nature of the situation – Lily! Lily is a Muggleborn!

"Before I tell you anything," she begins, nails _tap-tapping _at her chipped coffee cup, "I want to know that … that you don't think … that a Muggleborn is …"

"I always thought Muggleborns were just people, too, same as purebloods, same as half-bloods," James says fiercely, slightly hurt by the implication that he might think any other way. "Knowing that you're one doesn't change anything, I still – I still –"

Lily rescues him, saying "thanks," quietly, and then sighs deeply. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I was so stupid, but you just make me feel so at ease that it seemed quite ridiculous that you wouldn't know this huge thing about me, do you know what I mean?"

James does. He sits back in his seat and gestures for her to continue, wondering what possible explanation there can be for this.

"I know how dangerous it is for me to be at the Ministry, but I'm doing it for a reason. The truth is … the truth is, I'm undercover. I'm working for a secret organisation called the Order of the Phoenix, which is working to take down, um - _You-Know-Who_. We've got someone in every department of the Ministry, so that we can know who is with _him_ and who isn't – and so we can pick up information about his plans." She laughs wryly. "I'm the only Muggleborn, though."

James opens his mouth to speak, then realises he doesn't know what to say and closes it again. This girl, this beautiful, funny, wonderful girl, is also risking her life to try and bring down the most dangerous Dark wizard for a hundred years and oh shit he's in love with her. He knows right there and then that he'll never feel like this about another person, ever, because how could he? How could anything match this? And if that isn't being in love, then he doesn't know what is, because surely only love, that thing his mother talks about when she looks at his father, could have such a tight grasp on his heart.

"James?" Lily says tentatively. "James … are you all right?"

"No," James says honestly. "I'm in shock."

She laughs again.

"I mean," he continues, "I knew you were amazing, but to be so – so brave, and to risk your life like that … I know you didn't go to Hogwarts – well, _now _I know – but you would have been in Gryffindor, I know it."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Lily says, looking slightly bemused, but pleased all the same. "God, you don't know how good it feels to have someone else _know. _Especially you. I mean … especially _you._"

A thousand unsaid things pass between them, and James, unthinkingly, reaches across the table and takes Lily's hand.

"This wasn't in my job description," Lily murmurs, moving her thumb slowly, softly, over James' palm. "_Either_ job."

"What, spill all your secrets to the junior budget analyst?" James asks, his voice trembling a little; each movement she makes sends tiny jolts through his body.

Lily seems to hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Something like that."

-

For the first time ever, James has a secret from Sirius. He feels so guilty that he tells him that he and Lily went to the café again and he took her hand and she didn't recoil, or screech, or slap him, and that he thinks he just might, slightly, possibly, be very much in love with her.

"I can't believe you haven't snogged her yet," Sirius says in disgust.

-

The next day, James arrives at the office early, earlier than Lily. He barely glances up when she comes in, but he still watches, out of the corner of his eye, as she approaches her desk and sees the note he slipped there half an hour earlier.

_I want to join. _


	4. The Dark Lord

_Sorry about the wait between chapters, I was away! But thank you for the lovely reviews that have been left so far, and for the follows and favourites - you've no idea how happy they make me!  
I was thinking that at this point, there are probably some things that don't make much sense, or could do with a bit more explaining - so I'd like to invite you all to ask any questions you might have at my tumblr, bigquidditchhero - it's far easier for me to answer questions on there than it is on here! If the want was there, too, I'd be happy to post little excerpts and stuff like that between chapters. Let me know! _

* * *

"But it's dangerous!"

"Lily, I thought you knew me," James snorts. "Telling me something's dangerous is only guaranteed to encourage me more …"

Dimly, he recognises that this is exactly the opposite of keeping his head down and staying safe, but he pushes this thought aside.

"This isn't a joke, James," Lily says sharply. "If You-Know-Who finds out about the Order, we'll all be dead. Do you think that's funny?"

James stops dead.

"You know I don't," he says quietly.

For the first time ever, they're together after work; Lily's revelation seems to have completely collapsed any kind of boundaries that existed in their relationship. As soon as five o'clock came, Lily brushed by James' desk and hissed 'we need to go somewhere we can talk'. They stand, now, in a deserted alley behind the Ministry, wands lit against the chilly dark of early winter evening.

"No, I know – I'm sorry," Lily says at once. "I just need you to understand how serious this is. It's unbelievably high risk, the stuff you have to do – and if any of us are caught, it's an instant death sentence – if you're in, you have to be one hundred per cent certain that you are – you have to really think about this!"

"I _am _thinking about it," James insists. "I want to help, I want to fight!"

"No – _really _think about it," Lily presses, and James feels the tiniest flicker of irritation. "Think about how close you are to your friends, your family – if you're in the Order it has to be a _secret_. You'll isolate yourself from everyone you love, and you have to ask yourself, is it worth it?"

_Not everyone I love_, James thinks, but he realises that she's right – he can't possibly keep this a secret from Sirius, Remus and Peter.

"What if my friends wanted to join, too?" he ventures, and Lily purses her lips.

"If they did, that would be marvellous," she says eventually, "but they do have to be serious about it, you know. Do you definitely think they'll want to? Can you trust them enough?"

"I'd trust them all with my life," James says solidly. "They're really great people, Lily, I know they'll want to help."

Lily smiles; James automatically smiles too.

"I do trust your judgement," she says. "I really do. And God knows we need all the help we can get. You talk to your friends, and I – I'll talk to the leader of the group. He'll know you all, so he can say better than I can if –"

"What! He _knows _us? Who is this leader?" James demands. "How do we know him?"

"All in good time," Lily says evasively.

* * *

"An underground organisation fighting against the Dark side, eh?" Sirius muses. "Sounds right up my street. Sign me up."

"Good man!" James says jubilantly, clapping his best friend on the back. "Moony? Wormtail? Are you in?"

Remus hesitates, then grins. "What's a little more risk and danger, I suppose? Go on, then. I'd like to do something useful."

"Yeah, all right," says Peter resignedly.

"Excellent," James whoops, giddy with triumph. "I knew you'd all be up for it. But this is a secret, you understand? You can't tell _anybody _… I don't know that we're in yet, remember Lily says that she'll have to talk to the head of the group first …"

"We'll get in," Sirius says confidently. "You also said that this bloke knows us, didn't you, so … I reckon it's Dumbledore, actually," he adds thoughtfully. "Seems like the kind of thing he'd do."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Peter frowns. "D'you reckon? But he's the Headmaster, he has to be responsible …"

"Yeah, but he's always made it pretty clear that he doesn't support the Dark side, and You-Know-Who's s'posed to be scared of him," James says. "I think you could be right, Padfoot."

"So how exactly did this come about, James?" Remus asks. "Lily telling you about this Order? It seems a fairly risky thing to do."

"She said that she could trust me, and that she thought I'd want to join," James says, shrugging. "I suppose they need more people."

He feels a twinge of guilt at the lie, but knows it's for the best; he won't tell them, yet, that Lily is Muggleborn. If that gets out … and with Sirius working in the Ministry, and Needy Peggy being a humongous gossip …

James is doing the right thing, he knows that, but it doesn't feel right, lying to his friends.

"Well, I'm glad," Sirius says. "This ought to liven things up a bit. Staying out of trouble is very dull, isn't it?"

* * *

James spends the next day in expenses meetings. Bored stiff, he doodles unconsciously on scraps of parchment, and is startled when, at the end of the day, he looks at them and realises he has written nothing but Lily's name.

Disoriented, he heads back to the main office. Dingle sent out a memo that morning announcing an announcement at five pm; James thinks irritably that only a real arsehole would schedule such a thing for that time.

Dingle is waiting, standing at the front of the room, pallid face tense; when James comes in, he clears his throat and addresses the room.

"The Dark Lord will be visiting the Ministry of Magic tomorrow," he says without preamble, and James hears Lily stifle a gasp; everyone in the office seems to straighten up, as an air of tension settles over them all. "He will be looking to see how well this department is run, so it is absolutely essential that you are all on your best behaviour tomorrow. Tardiness will not be tolerated, as with insubordination and inappropriate attire. Remember that with whatever you do, you are representing the department, and remember that the Dark Lord does not appreciate laziness or rudeness. Anyone breaking these rules will be punished." A grim smile twists Dingle's horrible face. "Severely."

The second Dingle returns to his office, a hubbub of nervous voices breaks out. Supporter of Voldemort or not, everyone is scared of him, and James is no different – this is a wizard who has killed hundreds, who _will _kill hundreds – Muggleborns …

He reaches Lily's desk in one stride, blocking her from view of the others, because although everyone is scared, the terror written all over her face is something else. It's also a dead giveaway.

"Are you all right?" he asks in a hushed voice, but he knows that she isn't; her hands are shaking, her face is bloodless. He has to get her out of there.

She doesn't protest, doesn't react at all as James takes her by the hand and pulls her out of the office, into the lift, out of the building, but her fingers tighten in his as he turns on the spot, spinning them into the dark.

James' street is empty, but he hurries up to the flat anyway, vaguely aware that this is the longest he's ever had Lily's hand in his, and more aware that he could stay like this forever. He doesn't let go until they emerge into the living room, which is thankfully empty. Remus has a job, for the moment, and a note on the dresser in Sirius' handwriting reads _have plans for dinner. Will be back late – or not at all. _

"Sit," James says to Lily, and she does, gazing around wide-eyed at her surroundings. "Cup of tea?"

"Please," she says in a small voice, and once the warm mug is in her hands she seems to regain some of her composure, life returning to her eyes.

"Well," James says, setting his own mug down on the coffee table. "This is a bit shit, isn't it?"

He hopes she knows that he's referring to Voldemort, and not her being in his flat, because that part is kind of wonderful.

A rueful smile - "yeah, a bit," and then a look of dismay. "I can't believe it – he's supposed to be able to read minds, Legilimency, you know! He'll know, James, he'll know straight away!"

"Oh," James says, unable to keep the horror from his voice. "Bollocks." He reaches for his tea, then puts it down again. "I believe this is what's known as being in a pickle."

"I don't know what to do."

"Stay at home, and say you're ill?" James suggests, but she shakes her head.

"I was ill just the other week. I can't possibly take more time off. And it'd look suspicious, don't you think?"

"Right. Yeah."

He flops back against the sofa cushions, feeling desperate; never before has this happened, never before has a brilliant idea not sprung to mind at once …

Footsteps sound beyond the front door; both James and Lily tense, he realising the stupidity of bringing her to the flat …

"It'll be Remus," he says, trying to stay calm, "he knows about the Order thing, they all do, but not about you being – you know …"

Lily nods, face filled with gratitude, as the door opens and Remus walks in – closely followed by Sirius.

"Padfoot - what are you doing here?" James says in surprise, as Remus and Sirius stop dead, staring at Lily, who gives them a small, shy smile. "I thought you had plans?"

"I did. Long story … and far less entertaining than this one, I'm sure," Sirius says, raising his eyebrows in Lily's direction. "You must be Lily. We've heard a lot about you."

"Oh," Lily says faintly, as James says quickly, "ignore him!"

Remus hurries forwards with his hand outstretched, the need to be polite apparently outweighing his fear of pretty girls. "Hello, I'm Remus – it's nice to finally meet you, Lily, James speaks very highly of you …"

"You do?" Lily asks James with a surprised smile as she shakes Remus' hand. "That's good to hear."

"Think highly, speak highly," James says heartily. "And since Sirius is clearly above introducing himself, I'll do it – Lily, this is Sirius Black."

"Pleasure," Sirius drawls, grasping Lily's hand. "Forgive my rudeness, I'm not in the best of moods. I've just been informed that I have to go to Belgium tomorrow morning … meetings all day, and what's more, the damned assistant refuses to go with me so I'll have to do twice the work."

"How awful," Lily says, barely keeping a straight face, and James is about to wink at her when the feeling hits him: that bloom of a brilliant idea.

"Belgium …"

"Yes, Belgium," says Sirius. "What's with that look? Are you plotting something?"

"What do you say?" James addresses Lily, who is looking just as baffled as Sirius and Remus. "Fancy a trip abroad? You said you'd never been."

Comprehension dawns in Lily's eyes. "Oh! That's – that's genius – _could _I?"

"Could you what?" Sirius barks impatiently. "What's going on?"

"You-Know-Who is visiting the Ministry tomorrow," James explains, "and Lily can't be there, because –" he thinks fast - "because apparently he can read minds, and if he gets near her the whole Order thing could be discovered and, well, that can't happen. But she was ill last week, and it'll look suspicious if she just stays off, so …"

"… it would be ideal if an assistant was needed to help out in, say, Belgium," Sirius finishes, the familiar gleam of mischief sparking in his face. "Brilliant, Prongs."

"You'll do it?" Lily asks him in surprise. "You'll help me?"

"I'm a very helpful person," Sirius tells her. "I'm also not the kind to pass up an opportunity to accompany a beautiful witch to a foreign city, so it's really a win-win situation."

Lily turns red; Sirius grins and James glares.

"I'm going to get another cup of tea," he says to the room at large. "Does anybody else want one?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Remus says.

"I'll come, I'll help you," Lily pipes up, as James hoped she might, and the two of them retreat into the kitchen, to the sound of faint sniggers from Sirius.

The high-ceilinged kitchen is cool and light after the crowded warmth of the living room. James reaches the kettle and taps it twice with his wand; steam issues from the spout. Turning away, he finds Lily staring around at the room with undisguised amazement. Her face is still slightly pink, which makes James smile.

"So this is your home," she says wonderingly, catching James' eye. "It feels very odd to be here."

Indeed, James is still slightly dazed by the fact that she's here; she's in _his _flat, talking to _his _friends. Yet another boundary between them has collapsed.

"This isn't really my home," he says, as the kettle comes to boil. "I don't think of it that way. Home is Windsor, to me – my parents' place."

"Windsor, huh?" Lily looks amused. "I shouldn't be surprised, given this place. I don't suppose you've ever set foot in _my _hometown."

"Which is?"

"Cokeworth. Near Manchester," she elaborates, when James looks blank. "Dead scummy. And then I moved to Balham when I left school, which isn't much of an upgrade."

James nearly drops the mugs he's just grabbed from the cupboard. "_Balham? _Cripes! How do you sleep at night?"

"Like a baby … sporadically."

Snorting, James chucks tea bags into the three mugs and pours water and then milk into each. "I thought you were going to help me, by the way," he adds, though he doesn't mind at all; he could stay here all day, talking to her.

"I'm just here for moral support," Lily chirps, taking the mug he offers her. "Thanks. James Potter the domestic," she adds with a winning smile. "I would never have thought it of you."

"Ah, you have to see me in my flowery apron to get the full effect," James informs her, grasping his mug in one hand and Remus' in the other. "I should warn you, it's a killer look."

"You have no idea how much I want to see that."

Returning to the living room is like a swift kick to James' stomach, especially when Sirius shoots him a look that quite plainly says _well? Did you kiss her?_, and James reluctantly shakes his head in reply. Kissing her would surely have broken off their rapport, and he doesn't want that … he just needs the right moment …

"Right," Remus says, once everyone is seated again. "Let's work out how this can be done. It needs to be completely unsuspicious, as subtle as possible …"

* * *

The four of them plan for over an hour, until Lily glances at the clock and abruptly jumps to her feet.

"I've really got to go," she explains, reaching for her cloak, "I didn't realise the time … thank you so much for helping me, all of you, you don't know how much I appreciate it …"

"I'll take you home," James says quickly, getting up from his chair, but Lily shakes her head.

"Actually, I'm going to Headquarters – there's a meeting," she says apologetically. "I think I'll be able to ask about you lot joining tonight, too. I'll let you know as soon as I can."

"Bye, then," Sirius says, and Remus waves. James walks Lily the short distance to the front door, feeling the familiar deflation that comes whenever they part ways.

"I suppose I won't see you tomorrow," he says quietly, trying to sound as if that fact doesn't matter to him at all.

"No, I suppose not." Does _she _care? It's hard to tell. "Good luck with You-Know-Who. Remember, don't think about me at all, or the Order!"

"I won't. Have fun in Belgium."

"I'd have more fun with you," Lily says brightly, and then she's gone, cloak swirling behind her as she hurries down the stairs.

* * *

If James previously – before Lily - dreaded getting out of bed and going to work, it's nothing to how he feels today. Today, there is no Lily, but today, there is _him_.

He drags himself into the Ministry, the desire to turn and run away growing ever stronger all the while. As he walks through the Atrium towards the lifts, he notices that the surrounding witches and wizards seem to be much shinier, smarter, than on other days; most also look tense. Today is not a day to enjoy work.

Lily's empty desk is all James can see once seated at his own; he pictures her as she might be if she were here, perhaps twirling a lock of hair around her finger, or scratching her nose with the end of her quill, and then she'd catch his eye and smile, and roll her eyes …

But she isn't there. She isn't there, and James misses her more than he would have thought it possible to miss someone.

The plan, so carefully devised last night, must have gone smoothly, because Dingle doesn't even glance at Lily's desk as he passes, his wispy moustache and hair combed into submission, robes unnaturally free of creases. Sirius and Lily left for Brussels early in the morning, after Sirius sent an unctuous letter to Dingle asking to borrow his administrative assistant for the day; Sirius' estrangement from the rest of the Blacks is not a story widely spread, and the Black name carries much influence, something they know Dingle will not be able to ignore.

_So that's that_, James thinks firmly, and purposefully begins work, trying not to think about Lily and Sirius together.

It's almost two in the afternoon before anything happens. James glances up at the door for what feels like the hundredth time – but this time, he sees Hamish MacFarlane, the head of the whole department, entering the office in front of a tall wizard in a black cloak. As Dingle comes out of his office and the rest of James' colleagues look up from their work, the second wizard steps into the light, and James has to stifle a gasp.

Lord Voldemort is like no other wizard he's ever seen before – like no other human; deathly pale, with bloody-looking eyes and a strangely flat nose, the rest of his features waxy and distorted, thinning dark hair and very long, thin, white hands which are curved menacingly around his wand, James feels a jolt of fear just looking at him. Quickly, he looks away, as Voldemort stares around the office, his terrifying face expressionless.

"Ah, yes," MacFarlane says as Dingle approaches, his voice slightly higher than usual. James supposes that follower of Voldemort or not, it must be impossible not to be scared of him. "This is Harold Dingle, your Lordship, the Head of the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters …"

Dingle makes an odd kind of bow; Voldemort merely inclines his head, and then he speaks in a cold, high voice that sends goose bumps up James' arms.

"I have been wishing to visit this office for a long time," he says, bloodshot eyes flickering around the room again. "Sport is vital, is it not, to a happy society …? Yes, I am glad to be here … you do good work, do you, Harold?"

"I – yes, your Lordship," Dingle trembles, and for the first time, James feels for his boss; what kind of a question is that? And how must it feel to have to look into those eyes, address this man, this murderer …

What makes him so horrifying, James realises, isn't his appearance, or even the fact that he is a murderer, but the way in which he stands there, cool as anything, knowing that he has murdered hundreds of innocent people, knowing that he will murder more. He doesn't care.

"Good," Voldemort says, "good."

Once again, his eyes travel the length of the room.

"And who are these fine people who work so hard for us?" he asks. "Do not be shy, I wish to meet you all … to thank you … you, young man – what is your name?"

A cold knot forms in the pit of James' stomach as those horrible eyes settle on him. He forces his face into what he hopes is a polite, calm expression.

"James Potter," he says steadily, "your Lordship."

"Potter," Voldemort repeats, a flicker of intrigue passing across his face. "You come from a fine family, James Potter. A pure-blood, are you not?"

"Yes." _As if it matters._

"And what do you do, James Potter?"

"I'm a junior budget analyst," James says. "I handle monetary issues and all expenditure."

"Very good," Voldemort says, his patronising tone sparking anger in James' chest. "But do you wish to remain so forever? Or do you have ambitions for this place … tell me, where will you be in ten years, James?"

_Dancing on your grave, _James longs to say, though he knows he can't – but he can't hold in the anger that's flowing through him, and instead he says airily, before he can stop himself, "oh, running this place, I expect."

There's a nervous titter of laughter throughout the room, started by MacFarlane, and after a moment, Voldemort smiles too, his thin lips curving. If anything, it's more horrifying than a lack of expression.

"I value ambition very highly," he says. "So … I expect I shall be hearing much more of you in the future, James Potter, or at least I hope so … yes … you show great promise …"

He passes on to his next victim, one of the older wizards, and James stares at his hands, clenched into fists under the desk. The way Voldemort was looking at him … he doesn't like that at all. The last thing he wants, or needs, is Lord Voldemort keeping an eye on him.

* * *

_Oh ... I don't know if Balham is a really rough area of London, to be honest, I don't know London at all and I just took a chance because Wikipedia wasn't very helpful. If anyone could help me be more accurate, that'd be very much appreciated. :)_


	5. Induction

_THANK YOU again to everybody who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited. You're going on my Christmas card list, and don't take that for granted. I take that crap seriously.  
I'd also like to say a special thank you to __**stefanie437 **__for posting about this on her wonderful wonderful tumblr fanficsunderthestairs (took me a while to make the connection!) - it's a really great way to discover new stories, so go and check it out now! Go on! Or maybe, y'know, after you've read this ..._

* * *

"He said that?" Sirius splutters, sending a spray of Butterbeer over the table. "Shit, that's not good …"

"Yeah, not really."

James fiddles distractedly with a bit of gold foil from what remains of the enormous box of Belgian chocolates Sirius and Lily arrived back at the flat with earlier that evening. A dark chocolate stag is prancing half-heartedly across the table, one of its antlers missing; Lily didn't get the joke, but Remus and Peter found Sirius' gift highly amusing.

It had not been especially pleasant for James to return home after one of the worst days of his life to find Lily and Sirius sitting comfortably with the others, talking excitedly about their day, although he thought that perhaps Lily's eyes had lit up when he had entered … nevertheless, it had taken some effort to swallow his bitterness and recount the day's events to the four of them, to general horror and disbelief.

"Only you would cheek _him,_" Lily says with a small smile. "But gosh … aren't you scared?"

"Nah," James lies at once. "He's probably just trying to get all the pure-bloods on his side, there aren't many of us. He'll be after Sirius next."

"I can hardly wait," Sirius yawns.

"But that's the opposite of what we want!" Lily exclaims, staring from James to Sirius with wild panic in her eyes. "You need to be inconspicuous – if he's watching you both – you're in the Order, for crying out loud – James!"

James hits the ground in a muddle of chair legs, tangled robes and Butterbeer; spluttering, he staggers to his feet, wiping Butterbeer from his face, as Sirius, Peter and Remus explode with laughter.

"It's not _funny,_" Lily remonstrates, though the grin on her face says otherwise; James feels himself turn furiously red. He grabs his wand and wipes away the Butterbeer, then smooths down his robes and sits back down at the table, assuming a kind of calm dignity.

"Sorry about that," he says, as if the incident had no effect on him whatsoever; he tries to ignore his friends' uproarious laughter. "You startled me – I thought you said that Sirius and me were _in the Order?"_

"Did I - forget - to mention - that?" Sirius gasps, clutching his side. "Sorry – mate …"

"We are, too," says Remus, hiccupping. "All of us. Lily told us before you got home."

"Then we got distracted by the chocolate," Peter says apologetically.

James sits back in his chair – carefully, this time – and stares ahead, his mind spinning. They're in the Order! They're actually going to be doing something useful! And he'll be seeing much, much more of Lily, surely …  
He looks up and sees her watching him.

"There's a meeting tomorrow," she tells him. "You'll be properly inducted then. You are pleased, aren't you?"

"'Course I am! I was the one who wanted this, remember …"

"People change their minds," Lily says, still watching him closely, "though I didn't really expect you to."

"No, he's always been set in his ways," says Sirius cheerfully, nudging James with his elbow. "Will you take us to this place then, Lily?"

"Yes, I'll come and pick you up around five, if that's all right. I've got a mission tomorrow, else I'd bring you a bit earlier and show you around first."

James' heart sinks as a half-constructed plan that had been floating around the edge of his mind abruptly evaporates with Lily's words; he had been wondering if she might like to spend the day with him, if he asked her …

"What kind of mission?" he asks her instead, trying not to show his disappointment.

"A top secret one." Lily winks, then drains her bottle and stands up. "I'd better be off …" She turns to Sirius and pats his hand briefly. "Thanks for all your help with today, Sirius, we couldn't have done it without you."

James feels another sharp stab of jealousy – followed swiftly by joy. _We _couldn't have done it … does she still, then, see herself and James as a partnership, separate from the rest?

"My pleasure," says Sirius warmly.

Lily bids the others goodbye and then leaves. Dejected, James reaches for her empty bottle and absently starts to piggle at the label; a few seconds later, he feels a tap on his arm.

"What's up with you?" Peter asks. "Thought you were excited about joining the Order."

"I am," says James defensively, "I just … nothing. Today wasn't fun, that's all, with _him_ and all that."

Peter shudders.

"Well, against all odds, _I_ had a pretty good day," Sirius says; James glances up to send him an angry look, and sees that Sirius is smiling at him, and not in an unkind way. "That bird of yours isn't half bad, Prongs. Funny, and not afraid to take a few risks … I like her. Not in that way," he adds hastily. "She's all yours."

"She isn't mine," James says mutinously, picking at the label of the bottle again.

"She would be if you did something about it. She talked about you loads today … wouldn't shut up."

James goes to bed with a smile on his face.

* * *

Five o'clock the next day seems to come at half the usual speed; twice, James checks to see that his watch is working properly. He whiles away the day playing chess with Peter - thrashing him soundly – and, in between matches, watching the first snow of winter flit gently past the window and settle on the street below in a fine white dust.  
At half past four, he leaves Peter to join the others in listening to the radio and retreats to his bedroom to get ready, switching his old, comfortable grey sweatshirt for a much smarter red one and running his hands carefully through his hair to achieve exactly the right level of messiness. As he returns to the living room, he passes the dining table and sees something pink and fluffy wound between one of the chair's legs; curious, he leans down and pulls it out.

"Very fetching," Remus calls from the sofa, as James holds out the thing to inspect it, "but it does clash with your jumper, just thought you should know."

"Ha," James says, running his hands over the soft woollen material; it's a scarf, a scarf he knows very well, having watched it being wound around its owners neck numerous times in the last month or so. "It's Lily's, she must have dropped it last night."

"You could use that as a way to ask her out," Sirius advises knowledgeably. "Use your tools to your advantage, always."

"You're a tool," James mutters under his breath, and then, raising his voice, says sarcastically, "what, am I supposed to go 'oh, Lily, I've got your scarf, I was thinking you could wear it to go out with me next Saturday –'"

"_No,_" Sirius says, rolling his eyes, "but since that's more than you've come up with so far to get going with her … are you sniffing that scarf?"

James quickly stuffs it in his pocket.

At that moment, the sound of heels on parquet echoes from outside the flat, and a second later, there's a sharp tap on the doorknocker.  
Remus reaches the door before James can. "Hi, Lily," he says brightly, ushering her into the flat; James, trapped between an ottoman and the coffee table, feels his heart leap as he sees her, dark red hair, shining against the black of her cloak, flecked with snow. Her cheeks are pink with cold. James finds that absurdly beautiful.

"Hello! Are you all ready to go?"

"Yes," says James, freeing himself and Summoning his cloak from the rack by the door; the others make similar noises of assent and start to scramble for their outerwear. It's snowing heavily outside now, bluish specks drifting past the window.

Out on the street, Lily reaches a gloved hand into her cloak and pulls out a scrap of parchment, covered in thin, slanting handwriting that's vaguely familiar to James. She glances at it, then stuffs it back in her pocket and says, "right, the place you need to go is in Griffin Square … is that OK? I think it's best if I don't give you the full address here …"

"James is terrible at Apparating to places he's never been before," Sirius says airily. "Someone should probably – give him a hand."

Indignant, James starts to protest, but then Lily says laughingly, "I'll do it," he realises Sirius' aim, and is filled with gratitude for his best friend. One by one, Sirius, Remus and Peter turn on the spot and disappear.

"All right, then," Lily says cheerfully, "ready to go?"

She's shivering slightly, and James, suddenly remembering, fumbles in his pocket and pulls out her scarf.

"You left this last night," he explains, handing it to her. "Thought you might like it back …"

Lily wraps the scarf around her neck, beaming. "Thanks, James! I thought I'd forgotten something."

_This is the moment! _a voice in James' head yells. _It's snowing, you're alone, it's perfect – do something! Do it now!_

"Lily –"

"We'd better go, quickly," Lily interrupts, glancing anxiously around the dark street, "I don't like staying in open areas for too long … here …"

She holds out her hand. Fighting back a strong urge to yell, or scream, or even cry, James takes it, and, trying to think of his destination instead of the feeling of her body close to his, turns on the spot at the same time as she does; thick black darkness presses in on them, compressing, til all James can feel is Lily's hand in his -

"I hate Apparating," Lily says breathlessly, as they appear on a dark, snow-covered street similar to the one they just left, except that it's lined not with the tall, Georgian buildings of the sort that James lives in, but rather large, grand-looking houses, each a fair way apart. Sirius, Remus and Peter stand a short distance away, shivering in the cold.

"About time," Sirius says, as James and Lily approach, Lily pulling the slip of parchment from her cloak again. She passes it to Remus, standing next to her, and says, "memorise it and pass it on."

James watches as Remus frowns in concentration, staring at the parchment – then, after a few moments, nods and passes it along to Peter; a few more minutes, and Sirius merely has to scan it before he presses it into James' hands.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at The Lodge, Griffin Square, London._

The Lodge, James repeats silently. _The Lodge_ … he closes his eyes. _What is it? The Lodge_.

"Got it," he says, passing the parchment back to Lily, who incinerates it with her wand.

"Good," she says briskly, rubbing her hands together. "Now turn just slightly to your left, and look at that square of grass there, and think about that address."

James thinks, and as soon as the words have drifted through his mind, he sees something happening – a house is forming before his eyes, right on that patch of grass, materialising from thin air … he blinks, and a large, three-storey house stands solidly as if it has always been there, looking perfectly inconspicuous. A brass plate over the front door has engraved upon it the words _The Lodge_.

"Wow," Peter murmurs.

"Come on, then!" Lily jerks her head towards the house and hurries towards it, up the front steps; exchanging glances, James, Peter, Remus and Sirius follow. Lily taps her wand three times on the keyhole and then pushes the door open and steps inside, beckoning the others to join her.

They stand in a bright hallway, lit by flaming torches along the walls, illuminating several photographs which hang there; James leans in for a closer look at one and sees a small girl, with a round face and blonde hair, being hugged by an elderly woman. They both look at James, and wide, identical smiles spread over their faces as they wave down at him.

"Lily, whose house is this?" Sirius asks; James sees him inspecting another photograph, which looks to be of the same round-faced girl, but older here, and wearing Hogwarts robes.

"You'll find out in a minute," Lily says, waving an airy hand. "When you've stopped nosing, anyway. Come on, everyone'll be in the living room."

Obediently, they troop down the hallway and through a door to the right that Lily holds open for them.

James' first impression is that he stands in a wide, welcoming room with cheery yellow walls; his second is that it is filled with people. His mouth falling open, he looks around, gaping further as he spies familiar faces – the Prewett brothers, on the Quidditch team when James first joined – Mad-Eye Moody, who worked with his dad – and is that … _no …_

"James!" cries Marlene McKinnon, jumping up from an armchair by the fire. "Oh, you little idiot!"

"Delightful as always," James manages, before he's squashed by the force of his cousin's hug; laughing, he squeezes her as tightly as he can until she backs away, beaming.

"Darling boy," she says affectionately, holding him at arm's length, "and of course, you've brought your gang with you, how is it that you're still inseparable after all these years? Peter, and Remus, and little Sirius Black, how well I remember you … you tried to chat me up when you were only twelve, if I recall correctly!"

"I tried then and I'll try again now," Sirius tells her coquettishly, but Marlene laughs and waves her sparkling left hand in his face.

"You're married?" James yelps, grabbing her hand for further inspection; a gold band gleams below a glittering diamond ring. "Cripes, Mum and Dad tell me nothing! I suppose they don't know about _this?"_

"No, they don't, and neither do my parents," Marlene says sternly. "Marvin and Michael don't know either, so keep your trap shut, all right? This is top-secret."

"So I've been told," James mutters.

Behind him, Lily clears her throat. "Er – I think some introductions are probably necessary," she says, glancing around at the room's other occupants. "And perhaps … Albus, don't you need to …?"

She trails off expectantly as James jumps slightly; he hadn't noticed the tall, thin figure over in the corner, now rising to his feet, but he feels that he really ought to have done – for one thing, Albus Dumbledore's long, silver hair and beard aren't exactly conspicuous, and for another, one's former headmaster is usually a person one notices.

"I told you it was Dumbledore," Sirius whispers triumphantly.

"Hello, boys … although of course you are young men now," Dumbledore adds thoughtfully, spreading his hands wide in welcome. "We are most pleased to have you here with us … but Lily is quite right, there are a few things that need to be sorted out before you can become properly part of our little organisation, and I think perhaps they should come before introductions, rude as that may seem."

"Take it away, Albus," the blond wizard to his left says, and Dumbledore nods and crosses over to the door.

"If you'll follow me," he says to the newcomers; slightly disorientated, James traipses across the hall behind his old headmaster, Remus, Sirius and Peter following behind, exchanging bewildered looks as they go. Dumbledore opens another door, peers inside for a moment, says, "yes, this will do", and then ushers them into a small dining room, dark until Dumbledore waves his wand to light the lamps; another wave, and the curtains fly shut, making the room all the more cosier.

"Please, sit."

They do so, the four teenagers facing Dumbledore; James wonders if the others are filled with that very familiar sensation that often precedes a telling-off – the sensation that usually accompanied such a seating arrangement back in their school days.

"Well," Dumbledore says pleasantly, "I can't tell you how glad we are to have you all here. During your last year of school, I did feel that you would fit in very well … but as is often problematic with running a _secret _organisation, I could not ask you to join, for modifying the memories of students is, at best, frowned upon by the school governors."

"So if we didn't want to join, you'd have to modify our memories?" asks Remus.

"Oh, yes. An unfortunate but necessary measure, as I'm sure you can see … our headquarters are safe, protected as they are by the Fidelius Charm, but the fact of our existence – that is, the Order's existence – is rather more … at risk, shall we say."

"Isn't there …" Peter turns red as Dumbledore's eyes fall on him, but continues anyway. "Isn't there the Unbreakable Vow? To make sure we don't tell anyone?"

"Well, there _is_, of course," Dumbledore replies, frowning slightly, "but I would rather not … to say that it is do or die is a very crude way of doing things, I think. Giving your service to this cause is a very noble and brave thing to do, and I should never dream of judging a person for preferring to err on the side of caution."

"So what do we have to do?" Sirius asks.

"Have to? Nothing, Sirius, nothing … but if you wish to join the Order, I must ask that you simply sign this."

Dumbledore waves his wand and an official looking document appears on the table, headed _The Order of the Phoenix: Document of Allegiance_; once more, and quill and ink appear next to it.

"We just have to sign?" Peter frowns. "But how will that help at all?"

"It won't be just signing the thing," James says, his mind working rapidly as he stares at the parchment, "there'll be some sort of enchantment on it … a kind of Tongue-Tying Hex, or something …"

"Very astute, James," says Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Yes, there is something of that sort, just a precautionary method. And I must request of you all that if you feel you would like to remove yourself from the Order, you tell me, so that I can remove from your memory any knowledge of our existence. I assure you I will not think any less of you for doing so … of course, there is still the possibility that you might wish to switch your allegiance to Lord Voldemort, and not tell me, but to be perfectly honest, I would rather you didn't."

"No problem," James says, grinning, and he reaches for the quill and scrawls his name where Dumbledore indicates, a strong sense of purpose building inside him. Sirius adds his name beneath James', then Remus takes the quill, then Peter, who signs with a kind of grim resolution on his pale face.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore cries, as the document vanishes. "And now it is time for you to meet your fellow members – I think a few more may have arrived in our absence – as they will surely be wondering about the young men who so briefly appeared in their midst. Although," he adds, "your reputation surely precedes you … at Hogwarts, at least, your escapades are quite legendary."

"I'll bet Filch isn't too pleased about that," Sirius remarks, smirking.

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore agrees.

* * *

Back in the living room, as Dumbledore predicted, there are even more people – including, to James' shock, his old Transfiguration teacher, head of house and general favourite, Minerva McGonagall, who looks both grimly approving and exasperated as she regards her four former pupils.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she sighs, making Lily laugh, which in turn causes James to immediately worry about any exchanges these two witches might have had.

Dumbledore stands up at the front of the room and introduces James, Sirius, Peter and Remus in turn; there are a few raised eyebrows at Sirius' name, but to James' relief, no one seems to protest; then Lily takes over to introduce the rest of the Order.

"This is Benjy Fenwick –" the blond wizard from earlier raises a hand – "he's in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes … Dorcas Meadowes …" (a short, dark witch with a wide smile) "Alastor Moody, you'll have heard of him, of course … Rubeus Hagrid – oh, you know each other already too? Gideon and Fabian Prewett … do you four know _everyone? _This is Dedalus Diggle –" a small, aging wizard waves excitedly – "and Caradoc Dearborn …"

"Hey!" Sirius interrupts loudly, as a tall, middle-aged wizard with short dark hair grins. "Dearborn – you're in International Cooperation!"

"I am," says Caradoc Dearborn amusedly. "And so are you."

"We've got someone in every division of the Ministry," Lily explains, "except the Department of Mysteries … but an Unspeakable wouldn't be much use to us anyway. Of course, now we've got _two _members in International Cooperation and Games and Sports …"

"That will be discussed later," says Dumbledore pleasantly, and James feels a horrible swooping sensation in his stomach – will Lily be moved? "Please continue, Lily."

"Right," says Lily distractedly, "where was I … oh yeah, this is Sturgis Podmore, Edgar Bones and Emmeline Vance …" she gestures to a wizard with thick, straw-coloured hair, a rather dapper-looking man with crinkles around his eyes, and an elegant witch with a blonde bun. "And _this _is Frank and Alice Longbottom."

A smiling couple get to their feet; the woman, who has a round, friendly face and fair wavy hair, is instantly recognisable as the girl from the photographs in the hall. The man is rather more intimidating, tall and well-built, with a silvery scar running across the right side of his face.

"Lovely to meet you," Alice Longbottom beams, grasping first Sirius' hands, then Remus', James' and Peter's; her partner – husband, James presumes – nods at each of them.

"You're Aurors," Peter says in surprise. "I've heard about you …"

James, too, realises that he recognises the name Longbottom – but he would have never placed Alice as an _Auror_ … then again, he thinks wryly, very few people would imagine Lily, with her kind, pretty face, to be a tough, law-defying, often foul-mouthed rebel.

"It's helpful for the Order to have Aurors on their side," says Frank, glancing at Mad-Eye Moody, "but it's tricky these days, because of course the people _we _want to throw in prison aren't the people Voldemort wants to."

"Ah yes, the whole thing is simply fraught with complications," says Dumbledore cheerfully, "but let us not dwell on them now, when we are welcoming new members. Our remaining two members, Elphias Doge and my brother Aberforth, are unable to be with us tonight," he adds to James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, "but I'm sure you will meet them in due course."

"Alcohol!" Gideon Prewett cries suddenly, and everyone laughs, including Dumbledore. "Celebration! Four new members – Alice, where's the Firewhiskey?"

"What makes you think I have Firewhiskey?" Alice demands.

"You're married to Frank," Caradoc Dearborn chips in, making everyone laugh again. Frank rolls his eyes, but raises his wand and Summons a large bottle from a nearby cabinet; Alice sends glasses floating through the air to every person in the room. Once everyone has a drink, Gideon raises his own and shouts, "to the Order!"

"To the Order!" 


	6. Pure-bloods and Patronuses

"As entertaining as your next story undoubtedly is, Fabian, I'm afraid we must crack on," says Dumbledore amusedly, as the rest of the Order gasps for breath; Dorcas Meadowes wipes a tear from her eye. "The next thing we must discuss is … ah yes … Lord Voldemort's visit to the Ministry."

The atmosphere in the room sobers up at once; James sees a few members exchanging dark looks. Lily, curled up on the floor next to Benjy Fenwick (James doesn't care. _He doesn't care_)looks suddenly tense, green eyes darting around the room.

"Well, he visited every department, as far as we know," squeaks Dedalus Diggle. "In Magical Transportation he just checked the records of authorised Portkeys, and talked to a few members, asked routine questions, nothing special."

"Yes, in Accidents and Catastrophes, too," says Benjy Fenwick. "Checked the records, asked a few questions."

"Same with the Aurors," Frank puts in, and Caradoc Dearborn nods.

"He did the same in Magical Creatures," Dorcas says, "but … well, he seemed to be paying particular attention to the werewolf records."

Beside him, James feels Remus stiffen.

"I see," Dumbledore murmurs, his expression inscrutable. "Well, we shall have to keep an eye out for more news on that front … now, Lily, you were away yesterday, but fortunately we had James there in your department … anything to add, James?"

"Hang on," Peter interrupts, "sorry, James – but I thought Lily couldn't go into the Ministry in case You-Know-Who found out something about the Order? But all of you are in the Order, too!"

James swears silently as Lily's eyes widen; a flicker of confusion passes over Dumbledore's face.

"What are you talking about?" Caradoc demands. "Lily didn't go because she's –"

"Muggleborn," says Lily quietly. "I'm Muggleborn."

"Shit!" Sirius sounds half impressed, half deeply shocked. "How the hell have you got away with that?"

"Forged records, destroyed records – the usual," Lily shrugs.

"That really is the usual for Potter and Black," says McGonagall drily.

"It would have – thanks, Professor! – it would have been way too risky for Lily to go near Voldemort," James explains to Remus, Sirius and Peter. It takes a second before he realises his mistake; a second in which further shock registers on his best friends' faces.

"You _knew?_"__

"And you didn't tell us!"

"Hang on," Remus interrupts, his expression now reasoning, "it wasn't James' secret to tell … when we weren't yet in the Order either, you can understand …"

"Thanks, M- Remus," says James, deeply relieved. "I found out about the Order when Lily accidentally let slip that she was Muggleborn, but obviously the fewer people that knew, the better. Especially since Peter's mum's such a gossip … sorry, Pete."

"No, it's true," Peter sighs. "I won't tell her though, I promise."

"Or anyone else!"

"Or anyone else. I swear!"

Dumbledore claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention back to him.

"Now we have ascertained that Lily's blood status will remain a secret," he says to the room at large with a note of warning in his voice, "I would like to hear James' report of yesterday, please. James?"

James thinks about yesterday – was it really only yesterday? It feels like years ago – and remembers, with a shudder, the way Voldemort looked at him … his high, cold voice …

"He started with me," James begins, "asking me what my name is … he commented on the fact that I was pure-blood …"  
Painstakingly, he relates the whole interchange to the avidly listening group.

"Ah, he'll be after all the pure-bloods in time – the ones who aren't already on his side," Frank says when James has finished. "That's a lot of us, though – me and Alice, Gideon and Fabian, Edgar, Marlene … I wouldn't be at all surprised if he wants all the Blacks, either."

"No, nor would I," Dumbledore agrees. "I think it safe to say that we should not take this lightly, though. Pure-bloods, be on your guard … I want to hear about any contact the other side makes with you. Be very careful about how you act in public, for you may be being watched."

James, whose eyes have drifted unconsciously to Lily as they so often do, sees her look back at him for a fraction of a second, her expression anxious.

* * *

"Oi, you!"

The second the meeting is over – much of it reports of missions James doesn't understand – his cousin bears down on him with a falsely sweet smile and a vice-like grip.

"Let's go outside," she coos, steering him forcefully towards the door. "We need to catch up …"

"It's snowing, you mad old bint!" Struggling, James twists around and mouths _help me! _at Sirius, who just waves and reaches for the Firewhiskey.

"You used to play Quidditch in thunderstorms and now you're bothered about sitting in a bit of _snow?_" Marlene snorts, shoving the door open with one arm and propelling James into the hall with the other. "Come on, there's a garden round the back … benches and everything."

The 'garden round the back' is barely distinguishable as such in the dark, with everything now covered by a thick blanket of snow. Marlene sweeps it off a bench with a brisk movement from her wand, then pulls James down on to it.

"It's wet!"

Pointedly, Marlene casts a Drying Charm.

"I haven't seen you for _years _and all you can do is complain," she huffs.

"That's not my fault!" James protests. "You disappeared off the face of the earth! Married, indeed! Who is this bloke?"

Marlene beams.

"His name is Hugh … he's very nice. Very domestic, too, which is handy because of course I'm _hopeless_, and this way I can go and do Order stuff while he stays at home with the kid."

"Ex_cuse _me?" James splutters, staring at her. "The kid! What _kid?"_

"Did I not mention that?" Marlene muses, looking utterly unperturbed. "Bizarre … her name's Clementine. She's four." Glowing, Marlene produces a photograph; James takes it and sees a small, chubby-cheeked little girl with her mother's dark hair and eyes grinning toothily at the camera.

"_Technically_," Marlene continues, replacing the photo, "technically … Clemmy was born a teensy bit before Hugh and I married. Just a little bit. So, er … that's probably why your parents didn't tell you. Didn't want to set a bad example, you know."

"Clever move - it obviously worked," says James, "since I have no illegitimate children yet … though of course I mustn't speak too soon."

"Well, keep me posted. Although I suppose I'll be seeing you a lot more often these days …" Marlene sighs. "Why did you have to get mixed up in all of this, Jimbo? You're so _young _-"

"Excuse me! I'm nearly twenty," James informs her staunchly. "I'm a _big_ boy now."

"You're still a teenager!"

"And," James carries on, ignoring his cousin, "you need bright, clever, skilled, gifted –"

"Modest?"

"- brilliant wizards, and I am the perfect candidate – did you see the issue of _Transfiguration Today _I was featured in?"

"I did. Like the rest of the family, I received a framed copy of the article with advice from your mother on where best it would look in my hall."

"I hoped you followed that advice – the woman knows what she's talking about."

Marlene laughs, and then says abruptly, "are you sure you know what you're getting into here? It's not just a fun thing to do with your mates, you know."

James flinches, stung by the implication; is that really what people think?

"I do know," he replies hotly. "I'm in this for the same reason you are – to fight, to do some good! Don't you think _I _don't want to stop the Muggleborns getting killed?"

Marlene eyes him beadily for a moment or two, then sighs and leans back, staring at the snow flecked sky. After a few minutes of silence, she says, "Lily Evans is a nice girl."

"Yeah, she is," James agrees, deciding this would be a good place to end the conversation; Marlene has always been nosy, too nosy, and he doesn't want to find out whether or not she's already noticed his gaze drifting over to Lily far more often than it reasonably should. He gets to his feet and says firmly, "I'm going back inside, my bits are going to freeze off in a minute."

"God forbid," Marlene mutters.

* * *

The next day, at Dumbledore's request, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter return to The Lodge to be given some instructions on Order protocol. There's no official meeting today, but James is pleased to see that Lily is there anyway, her long hair tied up in a flouncy ponytail, having a cup of tea with Frank, Alice and Dumbledore.

"Ah, good morning!" Dumbledore exclaims brightly as they enter the living room, brushing snow from their shoulders. "I am very sorry to drag you out here in this weather, but we didn't get round to this last night – my fault entirely, of course – and it is rather important."

"What is?" Peter asks.

"Learning our method of communication," says Dumbledore. "It is very difficult to exchange messages that cannot be intercepted by others – owls, of course, are risky, as indeed is any form of written word. Fortunately, I was able to devise a way which is relatively risk-free … but it is a difficult piece of magic." He smiles, then adds, "also fortunately, I am quite sure you will all be able to master it. It is an adaptation of the Patronus Charm … have you knowledge of it?"

They all shake their heads.

"No worry – I can explain all you need to know now. The Patronus Charm conjures a powerful protective shield – it is used against Dementors, the foul creatures which guard Azkaban, and also a number of other Dark creatures. What is so particularly brilliant about a Patronus, and what makes it so useful to us, is that each Patronus is individual to the wizard that conjures it -"

"Meaning you can't be impersonated," James realises. "What kind of – what form does it take?"

"I believe all cases recorded have noted the Patronus as a kind of animal," says Dumbledore. "Mine, for example, is a phoenix. It will be necessary for you to learn the Patronuses of all your fellow members. Now, mastering the charm itself is of course the first step, but what follows from there is how to communicate with it. After some considerable time, I managed to enable the Patronus to speak – if you so wish it – so that messages can be delivered. It is a non-verbal spell, this branch of the charm, and it is all about intent; you simply hold in mind the message and the recipient as you cast the charm, and the Patronus will materialise at the side of the recipient, thus making it very difficult for it to be intercepted."

He pauses, then says, "the Patronus in its basic form also requires one other thing: a happy thought. A _strong_ happy thought – a feeling, or a memory … it is a shield against the Dark, and so is formed from all that the Dark seeks to destroy."

_A happy thought … a feeling or a memory _… at once, almost absently, James starts to leaf through his mental catalogue of memories. Being Sorted into Gryffindor? Becoming friends with Sirius? Winning the Quidditch Cup? Mastering the Animagus transformation?  
And then he reaches the most recent section, and memories of Lily fly through his mind – Lily smiling, Lily touching his hand, Lily kissing him on the cheek …

He starts as Sirius nudges him; the others have all taken out their wands, looks of great concentration on their faces. In the corner, Lily, Frank and Alice are watching avidly; James quickly looks away and pulls out his own wand.

"Remember – a happy feeling," Dumbledore instructs. "The incantation is '_expecto patronum!'"_

Expecto patronum … expecto patronum … Lily smiling at him … her lips on his skin …

"_Expecto patronum!" _

A large, faint, silvery shape bursts from the end of James' wand, hovers for a second and then fades away; disappointed, he glances round and sees similar things evaporating before his friends.

"I don't know of a single witch or wizard who was able to do it first time," Dumbledore assures them. "Practice is key! Again, please!"

"_Expecto patronum!"_

This time, the shape is stronger, denser, holding more of a form … four legs, James thinks. He raises his wand again, concentrating harder, focusing solely on that feeling … Lily …

_"Expecto patronum!"  
_An animal! It's definitely an animal, this time – large, and yes, four legs – long legs – and what's that on the head?  
The shape vanishes before James can get a good look; emboldened, he closes his eyes and grips his wand tightly.

_"Expecto patronum!"_

The others all turn to look as a huge silver stag erupts from the end of James' wand and canters the length of the room, antlers held high. James grins; he should have known, really … he looks over at Sirius and sees the last of a fairly solid, shaggy silver dog hovering in the air.

"Dear me," says Dumbledore as the stag returns to James. He pauses, chuckling at his own joke, and then gives James a pleased look. "Very well done indeed, James! A fine Patronus."

Delighted, James conjures the stag once, twice more, and then steps back to watch his friends. Sirius' dog is corporeal within a few more tries, and a wolf appears from Remus' wand not long after; James notes the look of horror on Remus' face, even though it doesn't appear to be a werewolf. Finally, Peter's rat takes its full form, and Dumbledore, Frank, Alice and Lily all break into applause.

"Tricky charm, the Patronus," Frank says, sounding impressed. "Not bad at all for your age. None of you seemed that surprised by the animals, though – had you done some research before? I always thought it wasn't easy to predict what form yours would take."

For a moment, James thinks about lying – and then he remembers that all of them had said, truthfully, that they had not known of the Charm before today. Surely Dumbledore will remember that … and, of course, the old wizard is frowning, looking round at James, Remus, Sirius and Peter with a quizzical look in his eyes.

Perhaps … perhaps they should just tell the truth. After all, Dumbledore would never throw them in prison, and their Animagus forms could come in useful for the Order …

James glances at the others; Sirius shrugs, Remus stares back with wide eyes, and Peter wrinkles his nose.

"Right," James says, making a snap decision. "Er – the thing is – we – that is, myself and Sirius and Peter – are Animagi."

"Oh no," he hears Remus whisper faintly.

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows.

"Interesting," he says slowly. "Very interesting. You see – you three are not listed on the Animagi register. And as you know, it is illegal to be unregistered."

"What?" Sirius demands, sounding confused. "We are – we are registered! Peter, you were in charge of that, you remember …"

James hides a grin.

"Oh, right, yeah," says Peter, catching on remarkably quickly. "Er – I might have forgotten … I meant to, and then, you know … whoops."

"Whoops indeed," Dumbledore murmurs.

"So you see," James puts in quickly, "we completely intended to register. So … we really weren't doing anything illegal at all."

"May I ask _when _you became Animagi?" Dumbledore enquires.

"It's probably best if you don't," Sirius tells him.

* * *

They spend the rest of the morning mastering the charm to make the Patronuses talk, practising again and again until Remus and Peter have to leave for work; Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts shortly after and Alice disappears to do paperwork, leaving Sirius and James with Frank and Lily. Sirius immediately draws Frank into conversation – giving James a surreptitious wink – and James, feeling nervous for some reason, approaches Lily.

"Nice Patronus," she says at once, grinning. "Mr Animagus …"

"Well, you know – I was bored," James yawns. "Had to do something, thought turning into an animal could come in handy … I'm surprised more people don't do it."

"Odd, that," Lily agrees.

James perches on the arm of her chair, his nerves melting away as her eyes sparkle at him. "So what's your Patronus, then?" he asks her, intrigued.

"A dog," she says, and James' mind shoots into overdrive – _why is it a dog? Is it something to do with Sirius? No, no, she must have learnt it long before she met him … _"A Labrador, I think. Nothing like Sirius'."

"Big and hairy? Yeah, I see it. Suits you."

Lily flicks his shoulder, half scowling, half laughing.

"Whereas I," he continues, "am, like the stag, majestic and strong and impressive …"

"I think it's probably the big heads that you have in common, actually."

"I pull off the antlers better though, don't I?"

Lily gives him an appraising look, and his stomach flips over.

"Better than most," she concedes eventually, still grinning. Then, as she continues to look at him, her smile fades, and she adds suddenly, "I need to talk to you, by the way."

"Oh yeah?" says James, trying to sound nonchalant. "Er – I thought that's what we were doing."

"In private … follow me."

Bemused, James gets up and obediently follows her from the living room and into the dining room from the night before. Lily doesn't sit, but paces up and down the room for a few minutes, not speaking at all, her expression inscrutable. James starts to panic; what is this? Does she know how he feels … does she want him to back off? Stop talking to her? _What?_

Eventually, she speaks.

"You could be being watched," she says softly. "If you aren't now, then you probably will be soon. I – being around me … it's dangerous for you. If I get found out, then you'll get in trouble, you might even be killed too –"

"What are you saying?" James interrupts, heart thudding.

Lily meets his eyes. "I'm saying I think I should leave the Ministry. I'll get Albus to put me on something else. I can't … just being around me endangers you, and I won't let that happen."

"Leave the Ministry?" James repeats; an image flits across his mind, the image of the empty desk. "Lily, I'm in the Order, I'm risking everything anyway, and – you _can't _leave the Ministry, I'll go mad if you do! In fact, if you leave, I'll leave, so that'll just screw up the whole having someone in every department thing. Do you really want that?"

Lily's hands fly up to grip her hair in evident frustration; she glares at James, green eyes like slits. "Be _reasonable_, you – you arse!" she shouts, and James is horrified to see tears spring to her eyes. "Don't make this into a joke, it's not _funny, _it's your life on the line, and I will not stand idly by while I lead you into danger! It's bad enough that I've already led you into the Order, but me being Muggleborn is a whole different – I can't do it, James!"

"You leave, I leave," James replies calmly. "And you're not getting caught, by the way. _I_ will not stand idly by and let that happen, so I'd say you're overreacting a bit. Just – it'll be all right, OK? You're going to be in that office until you're a hundred and seventy …"

"Dear God I hope not," Lily says, but she's laughing, even if her eyes are still watery.

"It's going to be fine," James assures her. "We're cleverer than Voldemort, right? And," he adds, though it's like a punch to his heart, "if it makes you feel better … we can stop acting chummy at work. Pretend we've fallen out, or something. Or we could actually fall out. You did just call me an arse, after all, and I am _mightily _offended."

"You're an arse," Lily tells him again.

"There's that charm. Use that on Voldemort and we're golden."

* * *

He can't help thinking, though, when he's alone in his room, much later. It's all very well putting on a brave face, but _what if? _What if she gets found out? What if he can't save her?

Horrible images of Lily being dragged away by men in hoods fill his mind, and he doesn't fall asleep for a very long time; then, at around five in the morning, when he has eventually drifted into a fitful doze, an owl swoops through the open window and lands on his bed, a torn piece of parchment tied to its leg.

* * *

_I don't like this chapter. Just saying. Wasn't clicking at all, but it all kind of had to be there to get stuff moving, and so there's not much emotion-y type stuff (which I think I'm better at?). So ... next chapter, titled 'Christmas Cheer', should be better. _


	7. Christmas Cheer

_Chapitre Sept! Which contains no Christmas cheer. _

* * *

_Your father is very ill. He has been taken to St. Mungo's. I will send more news as soon as I know anything more; please wait, don't come rushing over. There is nothing you can do right now. Take care – Mum_

What?

No -

_I'm in GRYFFINDOR! Just like you, Dad! And I ran into Professor Dumbledore this morning, and I said you were a Gryffindor too, and he said he remembered teaching you! He said you were very much a Gryffindor. Where dwell the brave at heart, right? _

_Dad, I got on the Quidditch team! They said my try-out was one of the best they'd ever seen! Will you come and see my first match?_

I asked out a girl! What do I do with her?! We're going to Hogsmeade together, but what do I do then? I don't know how you won over Mum by taking her to a Quidditch match. I need advice! Help me!

All right, I'm admitting that you're right, Dad. I actually feel like I'm doing a decent job as Head Boy – who would've ever thought that was possible? Well, you, I suppose, you did say … I'm carrying on the Potter tradition, aren't I? Gryffindor Head Boy! Let's just hope I have a son … ha. I'm sure I'll be a great influence.

I know Mum told you to send that last letter! I went for the interview and I got it, OK, I'm taking the job. Keeping my head down, nose clean, all that. Don't worry about me! Worry about how dull and meaningless your life is without me around!

I can't come home this weekend, I'm really busy with my high-powered job that you told me to get (!) – it'll have to be next weekend. Or perhaps the weekend after? I'll see you at some point anyway, I'm sure. Don't miss me too much!

It can't be – _no, no_, please no, don't let him die! Don't let him die!

* * *

_Your father is very ill. He has been taken to St. Mungo's. I will send more news as soon as I know anything more; please wait, don't come rushing over. There is nothing you can do right now. Take care – Mum_

__The words have by now lost all meaning, but James continues to stare at them, imprinting them upon his brain, because they are all he has right now. Hours have passed since he woke up to his mother's owl lightly pecking at his hand; the sky outside is lightening from deep violet to inky blue streaked with vivid pink. He thinks it must be morning, actual morning, he thinks perhaps he can hear the sounds of life outside, footsteps on the street, a cheery greeting between two early risers, but then how can it be so – how can life go on, when his father is possibly dying?

He glances over at Sirius, sitting rigidly on the floor, his back against the wall, arms folded tightly over his knees; the position he has been in since James woke him and brought him in here minutes after receiving the news himself. Sirius' face is drawn, dark shadows under his eyes, but he looks very young in the warm glow of the sunrise. Neither of them can speak, because they know they have nothing good to say; both of them could lose a father.

Beyond the door, the kettle begins to whistle; the chink of cutlery and clink of china follow. Remus must be awake. Soon, he will wonder why James and Sirius aren't up.

James looks back at his mother's note  
(_Your father is very ill. He has been taken to St. Mungo's. I will send more news as soon as I know anything more; please wait, don't come rushing over. There is nothing you can do right now. Take care – Mum)  
_and waits.

Remus' soft footsteps approach Sirius' door; a knock, Remus calls "Sirius?", then the door is pulled shut again. The footsteps get louder. The knock, this time, is louder.

"James?"

James manages a sort of croak.

Remus' head appears round the door; his eyes go to James, slumped awkwardly on the bed, and then to Sirius on the floor, both still in their pyjamas.

"What's wrong? Is one of you ill?"

In response, James holds up the note and pushes it into Remus' hand. He watches Remus' eyes fly over the elegant handwriting, sees them cloud with sadness and sympathy. Then Remus passes the note back, and, saying nothing, pulls James and Sirius into the living room, lights a fire, conjures blankets, makes cups of tea. His calm control of the situation is unbelievably reassuring; James doesn't feel quite so lost and helpless. Wrapped in a blanket by the fire, clutching a hot mug, away from the dark bedroom, he feels taken care of.

"You're not going into work today," Remus informs them. "I'll owl your offices."

"Don't you have to go to work?"

"No. Not today."

It is a long day. Remus does his best to prevent them from slipping into dour silence, turning on the radio, making endless cups of tea, trying to get them talking about _anything_, it seems – school days, Quidditch scores, the length of Dumbledore's beard, but for James it all comes back to his father. He was in Gryffindor, like his father. His father taught him how to play Quidditch, came to all his matches, bought him the best brooms. His father was friendly with Dumbledore, always admired him. _Was_ …

When the sky begins to darken again, Peter arrives with hot soup and his mother's sympathies. He helps Remus' cause tremendously, chattering away about everything and nothing, telling ridiculous jokes. James wants to tell them how grateful he is, but he can't express emotion; a lump in his throat signals a warning.

Someone on the radio says the time. Five thirty. Twelve hours have passed since James received his mother's message; what has happened since then? Why is there no news?

A knock on the door. Sirius looks hopeful, but James knows that knock. Peter opens the door, and Lily is life itself in the flat, bright hair and bright cheeks and bright eyes; she sheds her cloak and rushes over, but her eyes are so sympathetic that James feels the lump hardening – _no_ -

He hadn't realised exactly who Remus must have owled earlier. For the first time since he met her, James has had other things on his mind besides Lily.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, and then she takes her place in the circle, next to James, and she waits too. At some point, her hand moves, and her fingers entwine with his.

They wait, and they wait, and they wait, and evening slips into night, and night creeps into morning … _what if he's died, and they're waiting til daylight to give the news? _Three o'clock … four o'clock …

Remus gives a strangled cry, and hurries to the window: James' heart soars, then plunges. His mother's owl is on the window sill, bearing another note. He stretches his trembling arm out to take it from Remus and, with fumbling fingers, unfolds it.

_He is weak, but stable. You can visit in the morning; he will like to see you, he has been asking for you. Please tell Sirius that he is welcome too. Take care – Mum._

James exhales; he feels a hundred times lighter, as if he will float away at any moment; his father is alive!

He pushes the note into Sirius' hands and collapses into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes, happiness rushing into his chest, especially when he hears Sirius' gasp of relief. _Weak, but stable … stable …_

Remus rushes into the kitchen to toast teacakes and Peter tunes the radio to a cheerful, upbeat song. On impulse, James turns to Lily and hugs her, before realising that he has not washed, or shaven. He pulls away quickly.

"I won't be in again today, then," he says to cover his awkwardness. "Is that all right? It doesn't mean too much extra work for you? I could come in for the afternoon -"

"No, no," Lily replies at once, "don't worry, of course you must be with your dad." She gives him one of her shy smiles. "So I suppose I won't be seeing you for a while …"

"What?" _Why? _

"It's Christmas Eve tomorrow. I'll be away for the holidays … family stuff."

"Oh." James rubs his eyes, hoping his disappointment doesn't show on his face. What had he been expecting – that they'd spend Christmas together? Of course he will be with his family, and she hers …

Lily leaves after breakfast, patting James' arm and expressing her best wishes for his father, and he wishes he could grab her hand, tell her to stay because she is an inexpressible comfort to him and he needs her around, holding his hand, but he can't, and she disappears, and he misses her at once.

* * *

St Mungo's is relatively quiet; James and Sirius only wait for a minute before they are directed to the second floor. James has never visited Magical Bugs and Diseases before; as a child, he was in and out of the Spell Damage unit for various uncontrollable bouts of accidental magic (and some later experiments with his parents' wands) but he has never had to visit anyone before. He feels much too young.

His father has a private room, marked with his name and the Healer assigned to him. Seeing it there, _Aegeus Potter_, makes it very real, all of a sudden: his father is actually here, in hospital, where people die …

Pushing this thought away, James knocks once; his mother's voice calls 'come in!' from the other side of the door.

"You should go in first, on your own," Sirius says suddenly, as James reaches for the door handle. "I'm not family, I shouldn't …"

"Don't be stupid," James tells him, and he grabs Sirius' wrist with the other hand and tows him into the room.

It's small, but looks comfortable; James deliberately lets his eyes trail around the room, flicking from the painting of a blossom tree, petals drifting gently to the ground, to the bedside table, laden with cards and flowers, before he looks at the bed. He immediately feels sick; he knows his father as a tall, upright man, well-built and sturdy, with bright eyes and an animated expression. The man lying in the bed is pale and frail-looking, eyes closed, features slack …

But then he opens his eyes, and they are as bright as ever. James stifles a cry and rushes to his father, clutching his hand, savouring the feeling of _life_, the fact that he can still do this, when some hours ago he thought he might never see him again.

"Dad," he says softly, vaguely aware of his mother talking to Sirius somewhere behind him. "How're you feeling?"

Aegeus smiles faintly.

"I've been better."

"You've looked better, too," James says before he can stop himself, and he's delighted to hear his father chuckle.

"I don't -" he coughs heavily – "don't - doubt that."

"Aegeus, don't overexert yourself!" James' mother calls, hurrying to the bed. She hugs James; he is startled to see how she looks, tired and drained and utterly unlike herself; her usually pristine robes are wrinkled, her elegant silver bun collapsing around her face.

"Lavinia - you worry - too much," Aegeus tells his wife. His eyes dart around the room and land on Sirius. "Is that Sirius, over there? Come here, lad … been too long …"

Sirius looks abashed and shuffles forwards, hovering tentatively by the bed.

"Well, James and Sirius both have jobs, don't they?" Lavinia says briskly. "How are they going, boys? I do hope it's not too much trouble for you to be here this morning …"

"We don't want to talk about work now, Mum," James replies, frowning. "Dad –"

"- told you to get those jobs, and would – would love to hear about them," Aegeus interrupts. "I like to know that you're … staying safe."

"Oh yeah," says James, feeling sick again, "yeah, we are, Dad, you don't need to worry."

* * *

A Healer comes to shoo them out shortly afterwards, as Aegeus closes his eyes again, breathing heavily, looking exhausted. James feels guilty, a sense not helped by the knowledge that he just lied to his father's face – but surely telling him the truth would not help – it might even make him more ill, if he panicked …

"We _can't_ tell," Sirius reminds him, as they head out of the hospital. "We signed the contract, and anyway, it wouldn't do him any good to know. Yeah, lying doesn't feel great, but what's the alternative?"

"I know. I know, I just … we're doing exactly what they told us not to, aren't we?"

* * *

He can't sleep that night, back in his childhood bedroom, hung with Gryffindor banners and Quidditch posters. As the hours tick away – he hasn't slept in a long time, he realises – and the sky grows lighter behind the curtains, he moves over to his desk and pulls out the photo album he took away to Hogwarts with him each year. It's full of pictures of he and his parents; in each photo, they both look immensely proud, squeezing his shoulders; in one, he wears his Quidditch uniform, and in another, holds a certificate from the Young Wizards Recognition. He wonders why this album has been left here – why didn't he want to look at these pictures in his new life? Was it really so easy to forget about his parents?

He pushes the photo album back in his drawer and abruptly hurries out of his room and across the landing. Sirius sits up when James shuts the door, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep," James says, before Sirius can ask, although he probably wouldn't have done; he just lets James settle down on his bed, silent at first, and then James says those words that have been running through his mind for – two days, now? – _I don't want my dad to die. _And they talk, well into the morning, about his dad and how great he is, how he let Sirius in on that night and brought him up to the rest of the family without hesitation, how he's never treated him like anything other than another son he was proud of. How he's brave, and strong, and brilliant, and how he just can't die, and if he does, how the two of them will never get over it.

And they talk, too, about whether or not they're doing the right thing, but there is no right answer, and eventually, they fall asleep.

* * *

This feeling of guilt is new to James. He has never before had qualms about disobeying orders; why now? After a few days at home, in the old, familiar manor, decorated for Christmas just like when he was a child, he thinks he gets it.

Now that he is actively doing something to try and save lives, he understands what it is like to have responsibility for another human being: to want to do everything to keep them alive, and safe, and happy. He realises, now, that his parents must have felt like this his whole life, ever since he was born: felt this acute responsibility to look after someone no matter what. They are at war, and James is in a position where he could actually make a difference, maybe, where he could save lives – but he could lose his own in the meantime. In disobeying his parents, in disregarding their wish to keep him safe and alive, he could be killed.

And he knows, deep down, that there is one person in particular he feels responsible for, one person he longs to keep safe and alive, and he knows that if he told her to keep her head down and stay under the radar, she would disobey him just as surely as he is disobeying his parents, because that's who they are! They have to fight, they have to take a chance, because what is one life, or two, in the grand scheme of things, when hundreds could be saved?

James has never enjoyed being with his parents less. He and Sirius are both painfully aware of the magnitude of what they are hiding, but do their best to be happy and cheerful when they go to St Mungo's, put on a bright smile whenever Lavinia turns her eagle-eyed gaze on them. But a few days after Christmas, when Sirius is sleeping in and James and his mother are having breakfast together, the post owl delivers the morning newspaper, which bears the news that more Muggles have been 'eradicated'; in order to cleanse the wizarding world of evil, as the paper puts it.

James immediately launches for the paper; it's a few moments before he feels his mother's eyes on him and realises that such a reaction is probably odd to her.

"Thought there might be the Quidditch scores," he lies lamely, waving the paper.

"I hadn't realised there were matches over Christmas," says Lavinia crisply, sipping her tea. "And surely you're on the wrong page?"

James hastily flips to the sports section. Lavinia rolls her eyes, but then, to James' surprise, her expression suddenly softens; she sets her teacup down and reaches out to take the paper from him.

"Terrible," she murmurs, scanning the front page. "Terrible … darling … you are staying out of trouble, aren't you?"

"I – yes," says James at once, trying not to sound too defensive. "Why?"

Lavinia sighs.

"You probably won't remember much of her, it's been a long time since you last met, but your eldest cousin Marlene – Cordelia and Marius' girl – well, they're worried about her. Marius says they hardly hear from her these days, and she was always a very _energetic_ girl, always up to no good … rather like you."

"So you think – what, you think she's joined the Dark side?" James asks, hoping with all his might that his mother didn't catch any flicker of expression at Marlene's name.

"No, no … Marius was saying that back when Grindelwald was powerful, he knew that there was an underground resistance … there always is, with wars. It wouldn't be surprising at all if there were one this time. And Marlene – Marius and Cordelia think that's the kind of thing she would do."

"Right," says James, scratching his chin – he keeps forgetting to shave these days – "and what's that got to do with me?"

"As I said, you're rather like your cousin … very good at finding trouble, ending up in the middle of something you should have nothing to do with … that's why we asked that you work in the Ministry. If you tell me you're staying out of it all, darling, then I'll believe you, but I just want to know that you will continue to do so."

The lies trip from James' tongue with unnerving ease: "Yeah, of course, I have no intention of getting mixed up in any of that … I'm happy at the Ministry …"

To add to his discomfort, Lavinia rushes around the table and pulls him into a tight hug, hand cradling the back of his head, just like when he was young; he breathes in her familiar, musky scent, wishing he _was _young again, wishing he had no worries, no cares …

"I'm so pleased that you're being responsible," his mother says from somewhere above him. "You don't know how much it means to us … that you're staying safe … if anything were to happen to you, Jimmy …"

"It won't," he says, but his words are muffled, and he isn't sure that she hears.

* * *

_Dear James, _

_I hope this gets to you on time, though it probably won't! But I wanted to send it to you anyway, I suppose it doesn't really matter when you get it – I know it's not much but I thought you might like it. I hope you're doing all right, and that your dad is OK, and that you're managing to have a good Christmas. It feels very odd to not see you every day! I'm actually looking forward to being back at work, how weird does that make me? You don't have to answer that._

Anyway, happy Christmas!  
Love, Lily

James stares at it, the little stag, carved intricately from smooth mahogany; he wonders if she chose it because of his wand, but has she even noticed a thing like that? Does she know that detail about him, like he knows that her wand is made from willow?

_Love, Lily _…

It's those words, and her gift, that James is thinking of as he traipses across the snowy moor later that night, lit by nothing other than the full moon, though he says nothing to the others; he just thinks about Lily, and her love, and wonders where she is, and then he transforms, and goes to be with his friend.


	8. Infiltration

**Ooook I'm really sorry about the wait between chapters, I've been extreeemely busy and this was a hard one to write. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favourited in the wait, I love you all.  
This chapter is dedicated to Dee whether she likes it or not, because it would taken a heck of a lot longer without her ...**

On the morning of December 31st, Aegeus is released from hospital; although still confined to bed rest, he looks to James ten times better than just a week or so earlier, the waxy pallor of his face fading away. James feels happier than he has done all holiday, which he considers perfect timing: that evening, he and Sirius set out to meet Peter and Remus at the Hippogriff's Talon to ring in the new year.

The pub is crammed, being one of the most popular wizarding taverns, but the loud hubbub of chatter and laughter makes James feel all the more happier; he has felt isolated, he realises now, and to be amongst people – people who know nothing of his worries – is a comfort.

Remus and Peter have somehow managed to secure a table, and James and Sirius make their way through the crowd to the bar, passing people they know, or knew, and exchanging brief greetings; Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Gryffindor Keeper in James' second year, nods, and James' old girlfriend Penny Boot smiles at him before turning back to her boyfriend … at the same time asa ring on her left hand catches the light. Engaged. James' age, and engaged.

He mentions this to Sirius as they order drinks.

"Who to?" Sirius asks, craning his neck to have a look. "Oh, I see – that's Martin Fawcett, three years ahead of us, works for Gringotts now. Nice bloke."

He catches James' eye and adds, "you're not jealous, are you? I thought you were over Pernickety Penny. She said she thought you were too immature for her!"

"I'm not jealous," James says truthfully. "It's just weird, isn't it? She's our age and she's getting married."

"Not that weird … times like these, people want to get married quickly, make the most of it, all that. Like Andromeda … they don't see that there's any point in waiting, when you never know what could happen tomorrow."

'S'pose," James concedes. The barman passes him two pints, leaving the other two for Sirius, and they wind their way back through the throng to their table. Penny and Martin are deep in conversation, hands locked together on the table; this time, Penny doesn't see James as he passes. She's as pretty as ever, blonde hair loose around her rosy face, that same smile. She was always nice, Penny … and she was right to dump James, back then, when he was being a prat, though he didn't see it that way at the time. He suddenly hopes fiercely that Martin Fawcett will treat her well.

"Lots of people we know," Remus observes, when James and Sirius finally reach the table.

"Good night for drinking," Sirius says. "We saw – budge up, Pete – we saw Penny Boot, she's engaged to Martin Fawcett."

James takes a large swig of his pint.

"She's not the only one," says Peter, with the air of one very well-informed on the subject.

"Not the only one engaged to Martin Fawcett? Should we tell her?" James asks, straight-faced.

_"No. _Not the only one engaged. Cecilia Robards is marrying a bloke ten years older than her and Donald McIntyre was in the shop last week talking about how he and Sharon Carmichael are planning to elope soon."

"Do you plan to elope?" Remus wonders.

"I don't think there are rules," says Peter.

"Do we have to talk about marriage?" Sirius interrupts suddenly. "It's New Year's Eve! Marriage is for old people –"

"Evidently not," says Remus, "and you brought it up."

"And I'm bringing it down."

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't know." Sirius stares around the room, apparently looking for inspiration. "Maybe … Lily!"

"You want to talk about Lily?" Peter frowns, as James tries hastily to hide the fact that he knocked his pint over the second he heard Lily's name.

"No, idiot – it's Lily, she's over there, look!"

And Sirius is right – _there she is_, pulling off her cloak and saying something to a dark-haired man, whom James instantly recognises as Caradoc Dearborn. Lily's face is animated as she talks rapidly, hands gesturing vigorously to emphasise her words … how James has missed talking to her …

As he watches, Lily and Caradoc are joined by Benjy Fenwick, who then leads the way to a table a few feet away. James is itching to rush over there and give her a big hug, but he worries that he might not be able to let her go if he did.

"We should go and say hello, shouldn't we?" Peter asks the others, as Caradoc gets up again and heads towards the bar.

Sirius makes to push back his chair, but Remus holds up a hand, looking apprehensive. "I don't know if we should. Do we have any reason to know them, from an outsider's perspective? We don't want to cause suspicion."

"Sirius knows Caradoc from work, and James works with Lily too," Peter points out. "That's reason enough. It might look weird if we _didn't _talk to them …"

"See? It's fine," says Sirius matter-of-factly, getting to his feet and gesturing to the others to follow.

Lily spots them from a few feet away; her eyes light up, and James feels a wild leap of happiness, the sort of which he hasn't felt in weeks now. She greets them all in turn, hugging Sirius (he looks taken aback) and beaming at Remus and Peter before turning to James. Close to, he sees that she looks tired, dark shadows beneath her vivid eyes, skin pale and tinged with grey, but her smile is bright, and her voice is warm.

"How are you?" she asks, putting a hand on his arm. _Be cool. _"And how's your dad?"

"Fine. He's fine," James replies distractedly; she is gazing at him with that intense look of hers, and it's overwhelming after some time away from it. "I mean, he's still not – you know – _well,_ but he's doing better, he's out of hospital."

"Hmm," she murmurs, sympathy coating the sound. "You look tired …"

"Charming. So do you, actually."

She laughs; he's delighted to hear it, so much so that he finds himself laughing too. Benjy, who had been chatting to Peter, turns with interest.

"All right, James?" he says amiably. "Lily told me about your father, that must be rough – how's he doing?"

"Better, thanks." James watches Benjy with some curiosity; he hadn't realised he and Lily were so close, close enough to be out together on New Year's, and to discuss James' father, at least. He's a good looking bloke, too, James notices suddenly, bulky and blond with a friendly, open face … _damn him_, James thinks viciously.

"Good, good … don't need any more drama right now, eh?" Benjy laughs. "Why don't you all join us? It doesn't make sense to sit apart … look, Doc's got the drinks in."

Lily looks pleased at this suggestion, so James agrees and settles in with the others around the table. He finds himself next to Lily; it isn't a large space, and her knee brushes against his, sending tremors through his whole body.

Benjy turns out to be a riot; he and Lily go head to head with impressions of the rest of the Order (Lily wins by a mile, in James' opinion, with her impression of Dumbledore: she steeples her hands together and peers at him through imaginary spectacles, and he can't help but crack up). By the time the clock is streaking towards midnight, the whole table is weak with laughter, clutching their sides – the alcohol has been flowing all night and they're all more than a little tipsy. It is exactly what James needs, after the weeks he's had - comfort and warmth and laughter with friends, Lily at his side …

"Ten!" someone roars suddenly from the middle of the room, and the rest of the pub takes up the chant. "Nine! Eight!"

_You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight. _

"Seven!"

_This is it – this is the moment!_

"Six!"

His heart thuds with excitement, blood pounding in his ears. He's going to do it -

"Five!"

_He's going to kiss her._

"Four!"

He turns to her, his hands shaking in his lap; she's deep in conversation with Benjy, giggling, hair shining in the lights.

"Three!"

Should he just tap her on the shoulder – and then go for it? _What if she pushes him away? _No, she won't … she won't!

"Two!"

He takes a deep breath and shifts towards her.

"One!"

His hand reaches for her shoulder – but misses, as she leans forwards and throws her arms around Benjy, who kisses the top of her head, laughing, affection in his eyes …

"_Happy new year!" _the crowd roars.

Happy new year.

* * *

"God, I'm exhausted," Lily groans, lowering her head gingerly on to her desk. "What a night, eh?"

"Yeah," James agrees lamely. He attempts a smile, but this is – this is so _hard_, being around her now, back in the office, after the energy and – the feeling, how close he was to kissing Lily … and what if he had? What if she had kissed him back? Might they be _together _now?

Instead, he is bitter and jealous and upset, and for the first time, feeling somewhat resentful towards Lily. He was so sure that she felt something for him – the way she held his hands in their café, the lingering look she gave him … the smiles and little comments … has it all been in his head?

"Dingle," he hisses suddenly, spotting their boss striding towards them. Lily's head shoots upwards; she winces, spitting hair out of her mouth.

"Potter!" Dingle grasps his hand, completely ignoring Lily, who scowls deeply. "Good to have you back with us – how is your father?"

"Er – he's all right, thanks, sir," says James, utterly bewildered – since when has Dingle treated him _nicely_? "He's out of hospital now."

"Excellent, excellent," Dingle twitters, voice positively oozing unctuousness. When he twitches back to his office a moment later, with one last greasy smile, James turns to Lily in astonishment.

"What d'you reckon that was all about?"

"Dunno," Lily replies grumpily, "but he seems to have changed his mind about you. I suppose I'm still just the _secretary …"_

"C'mon," James says sternly, "you know you're not just the _secretary_."

She offers him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Well, it's true. You're the administrative assistant."

Snorting, she whacks his arm with a heavy binder until he backs away, pleading mercy.

"I surrender," he gasps laughingly, holding up his hands. "And I'm going to have to get to work now … hey," he adds suddenly, words tumbling of his mouth without any prior consideration, "d'you want to have lunch today?"

"I was planning on it," says Lily, not looking at him, but instead reading a message on her desk; a second later, realisation dawns on her face, and she looks up. "Oh! Did you mean – with you?"

James shrugs. "I just thought, y'know … we've probably got a lot to catch up on …"

"We have," Lily agrees, giving him a look he can't quite decipher – suspicion? Or trying to conceal some feeling of her own? "I'd like that. Usual place?"

"It's a date," James says, before he can stop himself; immediately feeling his face flush, he quickly turns to his desk before he can see Lily's reaction.

* * *

Dingle continues to act in a slimy manner towards James for the rest of the morning; James can tell that this doesn't go unnoticed by his colleagues, either. More than once, he senses that someone's eyes are on him; when he glances up, he sees a wizard in the corner, middle-aged and nondescript, turning his head away. He doesn't recognise the bloke, but then again he's never really paid much attention to the rest of his colleagues.

"He's new," Lily informs him when they're safely ensconced in their booth. "I haven't managed to get his name yet, but today's the first day he's been here. You say you think he's been watching you?"

"Well …" James shifts in his seat. He hadn't though of it that way, but now Lily says it, he feels like a complete idiot. "I suppose, yeah. You don't think he suspects me?"

Lily purses her lips, looking thoughtful. "It's interesting," she muses after a while, "because I've been thinking about the way Dingle's been acting towards you. I think that could be something to do with – with You-Know-Who's visit. He was interested in you then, wasn't he? If Dingle thinks you've got favour with _him_, he'll want to be nice to you."

"So …"

"So it doesn't make much sense that Dingle would hire someone who's suspicious of you. Then again …" she trails off, eyebrows knitting together. "It would be stupid not to take this seriously. Don't give that bloke cause for suspicion, whatever you do."

"All my life," James sighs, "I've been told I'm a highly suspicious character. It can't be helped."

"I know. I've had some very interesting conversations with your old head of house."

"Don't listen to a word she says," James warns. "She might seem like an extremely trustworthy and moral person, but she's actually a dirty liar and a thief to boot."

"What did she steal?"

"My youth." James points to his forehead. "See those wrinkles?"

"Ooooh." Lily leans forwards – _she smells incredible _– and inspects his forehead, wrinkling her nose. She has a few freckles scattered across her nose that he's never noticed before.

"Anyway," he says quickly, before he acts on his impulse to grab her and kiss her and kiss those freckles and damn it every inch of her, "er – I – how come you were at the pub last night? I thought you were away for the holidays …"

To his surprise, she turns pink.

"I was, kind of," she mumbles, "but not with my family, like I told you. It's … it's complicated …"

"Do you want to tell me?" James asks her gently. She meets his eyes with a kind of steely resolve, and nods.

"My parents don't live in England," she begins. Her voice is low, quiet, and James wonders if she is trying to hold it together; her eyes are shining a little too brightly. "I sort of – convinced them to emigrate to New Zealand when it became clear I – and they – were in real danger. They weren't happy about it, but they've always taken the wizarding world pretty seriously – so they agreed, but my sister didn't. She lives in Surrey, with her fiancé. We don't really talk. So – I don't really have family around."

"What were you doing at Christmas, then?" James croaks – a lump is forming in his throat. Having come so close to losing his father, the thought of Lily having to send her parents away to a different _continent_ is hitting him hard.

"Doing stuff for the Order, mostly," she shrugs. "The rest of the time I spent with – with Benjy. He's an orphan, his mother was Muggleborn and his father pureblood, so they were some of the first to go when You-Know-Who came to power. We joined the Order around the same time, and – neither of us had very much money, so we got a flat together …"

James' coffee goes flying over the Formica table, narrowly missing Lily as she ducks.

"Sorry!" he gasps, swiping at the splatters with his sleeve. "I just – you _live _with Benjy?"

"It's better than living alone in a grimy flat in Balham," Lily says defensively. "Much better, actually – Benjy's a sweetheart, he's been so good to me …"

James tries to nod understandingly, but jealousy is burning up inside him, making his fists clench – _Benjy seeing Lily every morning and every night, getting to eat breakfast with her and say good night to her … _

"So – are you two …?" he forces himself to ask.

Lily turns even redder, but she laughs too, almost to herself, as if thinking of some private joke. "I love him very much," she says, and James' heart seems to slither from his chest and land with a _splat _on the floor. "But it's never been – like _that _between us."

And he believes her, even though there's a voice in his head shrieking that she's lying and she and Benjy will elope any day now. He has to block it out; he can't help but trust Lily. The voice turns into Remus', saying _you're too trusting, _but really, is that such a bad thing? And if he's honest with himself, he would rather Lily lived with a hundred men than have to live alone, knowing her family are thousands of miles away, knowing there are people out there who want nothing more than to kill her …

This thought keeps him going through the long, cold days that follow. His free time is now completely taken up by the Order, as he, Sirius, Remus and Peter are thrown headfirst into tailing known Death Eaters and tracking down suspected ones, working on strategy plans and doing their very best to stop Voldemort's brutal murders from being carried out. When they manage to save a Muggle family, Apparating them away from their house moments before it goes up in flames, James feels overwhelming pride and achievement like the sort he used to get from holding up the Quidditch cup – except this is so much more worthwhile. With the knowledge that he is doing some good, he is cope with it all – his growing feelings for Lily, the twinges of jealousy when he sees her arm in arm with Benjy; the wizard in the office, whose eyes rarely leave James; his father's poor health and his mother's increasingly anxious letters. It doesn't make it all go away, and when he hovers between consciousness and sleep at night, his mind goes to the things he cannot change, but it makes it easier to deal with, and for now, that's enough.

* * *

It's raining, absolutely tipping it down, drumming thunderously against the windows and the roof of The Lodge. The living room is remarkably cosy in contrast; Alice and Frank have provided piping hot tea, and James, exhausted from a long night talking with Sirius and Remus and an even longer day at work, is finding it hard not to fall asleep. He wishes the meeting would just start, so it can end and he can go to bed … These meetings immediately following work are the very worst. Once or twice, his eyelids start to close, and he feels a sharp pinch on his upper arm.

"Stop it," he hisses at Marlene, the third time she does it.

"Stop falling asleep, then," she retorts, infuriatingly perky.

He's about to say something cutting in response when Dumbledore stops his conversation with McGonagall and says, "I think we had better start … there's nothing to be gained from waiting any longer."

"Who are we waiting for?" James mutters to Marlene, looking blearily around the room. Whoever it is, he hates them … he could have been at home by this point, dozing on the sofa …

"Elphias and Benjy," she replies, "but Elphias is always late."

_Benjy?_ Slightly more awake now, James looks over at Lily. Her expression is strained; her eyes keep flickering towards the door as Dumbledore starts to speak.

He starts to go through the topics for discussion and then asks Remus and Peter for a report from their tailing of a suspected Death Eater last week – but Peter has barely opened his mouth when there's a great bang from the hallway, the sound of the front door flying open and shut again, followed by frantic footsteps charging down the wooden floor; seconds later, the living room door bursts open, sending Elphias into their midst, soaking wet and panting heavily.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asks him urgently, but Elphias seems unable to speak; he just clutches his chest and thrusts a damp newspaper into Dumbledore's hands.

"Evening – _Prophet_," he wheezes, as Dumbledore unfolds it. "Just – came – out – it's bad, Albus, it's bad …"

Every eye in the room is on Dumbledore as he starts to read; the twinkle in his eyes dies as they move down the page, his face growing paler and paler.

"Albus – what …?" McGonagall whispers, her voice trembling, but Dumbledore says nothing, just closes his eyes.

"Give that here," Moody says impatiently, and he leans over and tugs the paper from Dumbledore's unresisting hands. His mismatching eyes scan the text, the normal one widening; as the rest of the room watches with baited breath, he shakes his head.

"The bastards," he snarls, throwing the paper aside, "the bastards …"

"Alastor, what's going on?" Alice pleads; her question is echoed on all sides.

"They got him," Moody growls, and James wants to stand up and shake him and yell '_what are you saying?_' "They got us all –"

"Got who?" someone cries, and James feels a sudden surge of nausea – no – surely not …

"Right," says Frank suddenly, and he makes a grab for the paper as several others do the same – but Frank gets there first, and all the colour drains from his face as he takes in the words.

"They know," he whispers. "And – Benjy's dead."

There's dead silence all around the room – and then it's broken, broken by a single, strangled cry that tears James' battered heart into pieces – and Lily stares at Frank, and her eyes are full of a plea, a plea to tell her that it isn't true -

"You're lying," she says forcefully. "You're lying –"

"I'm not, Lily, it's – it's true – they –" Frank's voice is cracking – "it says they've been suspicious for some time – and he was a suspect and they – they _interrogated _him and it says that - they _regret that he died under questioning._"

There's sudden uproar, everyone's hands clamouring for the newspaper, to read it for themselves, but James has eyes only for Lily, who tears from the room without a backwards glance, and in that moment he doesn't care that the Order has been discovered - though he _does_, he just – _this is more important, she is more important_.

He finds her outside, on that bench where he and Marlene teased each other just a few weeks earlier; it's still pouring with rain and she is slumped with her head in her hands, sobbing brokenly.

"Lily," he tries to say, but his voice catches, and he doesn't know if it's the news about Benjy or – no, it isn't, because that hasn't really hit him yet, but it's hit Lily, and she is broken in front of him, heartbroken. Benjy was her family, wasn't he? What if he lost Sirius? How would he feel?

So he just sits with her as she weeps, rain soaking through his clothes and numbing his skin, and James understands that she doesn't know where to go from here, because when she goes home, she will return to an empty flat, and when she reaches out to him with such pain on her face that he can hardly bear to look at her, he pulls her close and strokes her hair and wishes he could stop her pain - he would have lived with a life of jealousy if it could have meant she had her friend for always …

* * *

"We – we can't stay here all night," he says eventually, his voice hoarse from lack of use. The lights are still on in the house – everyone must be discussing what happened – but it is late, very late, and still raining, freezing January rain, and they'll get pneumonia if they stay out here for much longer.

"No!" Lily gasps, her head springing away from James' chest. "No – we can – I can –"

"You can't," he tells her; he's trying to be firm but she's a mess, expression utterly desperate, crumpled and lost, eyes swollen from all the tears … "We've got to go home."

"I can't, I can't!" she moans. Her hands grasp at the front of his sopping robes, and he thinks of a time in the supply cupboard – that seems like years ago now. "I can't go back there – don't make me, don't make me go - _home_ –"__

He grabs her hands and holds them tightly in his, acting on impulse – he just wants to make it all OK, he wants to say 'you don't have to go back there' – _and he can …_

"You're coming home with me."

* * *

The flat is deserted, but James doubts Lily would have noticed if the entirety of the Ministry was gathered in the living room; she's like a limp doll as he propels her across the room and into his bedroom. He guides her to the bed - where she sits utterly still, staring at the opposite wall – and conjures a towel for her to dry her hair.

"Thank you," she says as she takes it; her voice sounds forced.

"Don't mention it."

He's halfway to the door when she speaks again, this time tentatively, uncertainly.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to sleep on the sofa," he says, surprised. "I thought – I mean, I don't mind you having my bed – if _you _don't mind that is –"

She opens her mouth, blinks, and closes it again. He's never seen anybody look so confused or lost, and it hurts.

"Thank you," she says again, after a few long moments, and he shrugs and says 'good night' and turns back to the door, and as he does he wonders if he should stay with her – stay up with her all night, hold her hand and talk her through it – but there's something holding him back.

He doesn't sleep at all that night, and he'd bet all the gold in the world that she doesn't either.

* * *

"James?"

He opens his eyes, catches a blinding flash of light and screws them shut again.

"James!"

_Go away_, he thinks furiously, and it's only when he hears a chuckle that he realises he said it out loud, and only _then _does he recognise the voice that's been calling his name.

"Professor!" he gasps, sitting bolt upright and almost toppling off the sofa.

"I haven't been your headmaster for well over a year now," says Dumbledore idly – his eyes are travelling over the living room with interest – "so I think it would be quite all right if you were to call me Albus. You know, I think I once owned that very painting … remarkable, isn't it?"

"What?" James mumbles, utterly disorientated. "Er – yeah – my parents got it when I moved in …"

"How is your father?" Dumbledore asks, his expression becoming serious again. "I was sorry to hear of his illness, very sorry indeed."

"He's – he's all right." James struggles up on to one elbow, suddenly becoming extremely aware of the situation; he in his pyjamas, tangled in blankets on his sofa, while his former headmaster reclines in an armchair facing him. Sleep-deprived as he is – he only dropped off to sleep as the sun was rising – he feels like this is a fairly odd scenario in which to find himself. "Erm – Professor - Albus – no, sorry, that sounds too weird – Professor, what are you doing here?"

"We need to discuss the events of last night," says Dumbledore. His blue eyes are fixed on James, surveying him closely. "We are in a precarious situation. It is vital that we act with precision and speed; we must move to secure all places with any link to the Order. That includes this building, and also your parents' home."

"But they don't know anything about the Order!" James protests.

Dumbledore gives him a piercing look. "Can you not think of any way to persuade them to have security on their home without giving away the real reason for it? I think you can. I have always found you to be extremely adept at – ah – inventing false purposes, shall we say."

"Lying, you mean." James heaves a sigh. "Yeah, I suppose I can. I don't like it, though."

"No, nor I," says Dumbledore gravely, "but it is necessary, if you wish to protect your family. I am afraid we are all in danger now."

"Right." James slumps back against the sofa cushions, a heavy weight settling in his stomach. _We are all in danger now_. "And what about all our jobs? Loads of us work in the Ministry –"

"And you should continue to do so. Do not change anything about the way you act; continue to do exactly as you did before, that is of the utmost importance. They will be watching for suspicious behaviour; do not give them any reason to suspect you."

_Thank God_, he can't help thinking; he can still talk to Lily … _Lily_ … he shoots back into a sitting position, suddenly remembering – she stayed over, she is here -

Or is she? His eyes light upon a piece of parchment lying on the coffee table a few feet away, covered in loopy handwriting. Lily's handwriting.

"Professor – d'you mind passing me that note?"

Dumbledore, apparently unsurprised by this request, obliges.

_James -_

Thank you so much for last night. Your support and comfort mean the world to me, you can't even begin to know how glad I was to have you there with me.  
I'm sorry to run out like this but I'm confused and scared and I just don't really know what I'm doing – that's no excuse, I know, but Dorcas contacted me and said she'll stay with me at the flat, if I like, and – well, I can't hide from it forever, can I? I need to go back, but I can't do it alone, so this is the best solution. I am so lucky and grateful to have friends like you two in my life.

Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on. I'll see you soon.

Lily

So she's gone. _Confused and scared _… he's not surprised. With all she's gone through, having to send her parents away, then losing her best friend …

"Professor?" he says abruptly, tearing his eyes from the note. Dumbledore, who had been idly twiddling his thumbs, looks up expectantly. "You said we must secure all places with any link to the Order. But Lily told me that her sister won't let her put protection on her home …"

"Can she not be persuaded?" asks Dumbledore sharply.

"That's what I'm thinking. Sir … do you have her address?"

* * *

Privet Drive is – _square_; there's no other way to describe it, James decides, as he turns into the street and stares at the identical, square houses lining the road. Number four, Dumbledore had said. He had also warned James to dress in as Muggle a fashion as he could manage, so James stands now in a faded old grey suit, borrowed from Remus, who had it for a Muggle job; it's fraying at the edges and is at least two inches too short in the leg, but if Petunia Evans _is _so vehemently anti-magic, it's probably better than James' finest silk robes.

He approaches number four, as square and bland as its neighbours, with an increasing sense of dread. Is this really a good idea – going behind Lily's back to talk to her sister? What if Petunia doesn't agree, and – even worse – is so angry that she refuses to talk to Lily at all?

_Or_, he tries to convince himself_, she could see your well-reasoned points and agree and it'll all be fine and dandy_.

Slightly more hopeful, he steps up to the spotless front door and knocks determinedly.

His first instinct, when the door is opened, is to check that he has the right house, because surely this sour-faced woman standing before him _can't _be Lily's sister … but as she stares at him and he stares at her, he notices her nose, and her stature, and even her pursed lips … all Lily. Lily's features in the face of a blonde woman who is looking at him – and his suit - with utter disgust.

"Can I help you?" she asks eventually; her tone suggests that she would rather not.

"Petunia?" he checks. She purses her lips further, which he takes as a yes. "My name is James Potter. I'm a friend of your sister's."

The reaction is immediate; Petunia's eyes widen, her face drains of colour and she jolts backwards, hands gripping the door tightly, as if to slam it in his face at any moment. With revulsion etched into every line of her face, she hisses, "what do you mean by coming here? I want nothing to do with – with any of you, or your lot!"

"That might not be your choice to make," James says evenly. He steps closer to her, and she recoils – but doesn't slam the door, not yet. "I – look, we shouldn't talk about this in the open. May I come in?"

He can see her battling with it for a moment – bring him into her house, or have the neighbours see her conversing with someone like him on the doorstep? But then the former seems to win, and she steps aside and furiously beckons for him to come in.

"Quickly!" she snaps. "And take those disgusting shoes off, now!"

He does as he's told, even though his desire to protect this woman is diminishing by the second. He can't help looking around at her house with undisguised curiosity, however; brushing the realisation that he has been in Lily's sister's house, but not hers, aside, he gazes around at the magnolia walls, the beige carpet, the pristine surfaces … nothing appears out of place here, nothing at all.

Except him.

"Aren't you going to ask me into the living room?" he asks, when Petunia makes no move to do so.

"No," she says coldly. She crosses her arms tightly over her bony chest. "What do you want? What did you mean when you said I might not have a choice about getting involved with your lot? Talk!"

James rolls his eyes at her rudeness – he can see Lily in her flashing eyes, though – but takes a deep breath and starts to explain the situation.

"I know you hate magic," he says, "I know. And I know you pretend to hate your sister, too, but I'm willing to bet you don't actually – you're just angry with her. I know she doesn't hate you, either, and she'd be cut up if anything happened to her – she's just lost her friend, he was murdered yesterday –" Merlin, was it only yesterday? It feels like weeks ago – "and – well, essentially, we're in danger and anyone associated with us, linked to us, is in danger. We _can _protect you and we will, and please, Petunia, you have to let us."

"One of your lot was murdered?" she demands; James flinches at the coldness of her tone, but nods. Her face grows, if possible, even whiter.

"This has nothing to do with me," she says angrily. "I'm not part of this, and nor is my fiancé – we shouldn't be implicated!"

"You _are _part of this – they're killing Muggles!" James replies exasperatedly. "No, it's not fair, none of this is fair, but you should be bloody grateful –"

"How dare you speak to me like -"

"- you should be bloody grateful that there are people trying to stop this! I don't have to be here right now, doing this, you know – there are a thousand other useful things I could be doing. But I'm here because I _care_ –"

"Care!" Petunia shrieks, colour flooding into her face. "Care! You don't care about me, you care about Lily, perfect Lily – it's always about _her_, no one would give a damn about whether or not _I _was – attacked by wizards if it weren't for _Lily_ –"

"Yeah," says James coolly, "maybe that's true. I know I wouldn't care, because frankly you're not a nice person. But because I care about Lily, I care about whether or not you get murdered, and I don't really think that's something to be sniffed at, to be honest. Take what you can get. If some random bloke turns up at your house and says _I can help keep you alive_, just say OK."

"You –"

"_Just say OK."_

Petunia stares at him; he meets her gaze determinedly.

"Fine," she says.

"You're agreeing?" James asks in disbelief; he had half been expecting her to slap him …

"_Fine_," she repeats vehemently. "Now get out of my house."

* * *

He expects Lily to turn up to work on Monday morning looking pale and wan and exhausted – but she doesn't. She swishes into the office with shiny hair and a wide smile, and bustles straight into action, ordering folders with a vigour he's never seen before. Is this denial, he wonders, or an act to keep Voldemort's people off the scent?

He gently questions her over lunch, asking if she's actually all right – or just being wary.

"We've got to throw them off the scent," she says – not actually answering the question, he notices. "Dumbledore said act as normal but you and I spend far too much time whispering together and going off to lunch, I think they might get suspicious of that –"

"So you think we should ignore each other?" he asks in dismay. "_That'll_ look suspicious, if we suddenly change our routine completely!"

"What reason could we have for spending so much time together?" she counters. Her eyes meet his; he raises his eyebrows.

"You think we should pretend to – to date?"

"Not overtly so," he says, shrugging, "I don't think we should _lie_, exactly –" how he wishes it wouldn't be a lie … "I just think dropping a few hints here and there that we're together wouldn't be the worst idea in the world. It could protect us."

"Or it could make things much worse for _you_, if I'm found out."

"Well, that's not going to happen, is it? But as an extra precaution – maybe we could talk – in the office – about how over Christmas, we stayed with your parents … your very magical parents …"

She shakes her head, but there's a smile on her face, and _this _one seems genuine. It warms his heart. "You're an idiot."

"Is that a yes?"


End file.
